Asylum
by GothamDumpsterFire
Summary: Moira "The Collector" Briarcliffe, the narcissistic proprietor of Arkham Asylum with a god complex, promises to run a moral high ground in her new prospect. But will her enamored obsession with a certain patient become her undoing?
1. Ch. 1: Make Gotham Great Again

Chapter One: "Make Gotham Great Again"

"_Back to square one..._Common criminals._ We saved this city from certain damnation, but will we see any credit for our loyalty, our selfless bravery? Of course not! I don't want their thanks. Or their respect. You know what I felt, standing shoulder to shoulder with those people out there? Nothing. I... feel... absolutely _nothing_ for those drab... boring people. That was me once. Minimum wage at a thankless job at the GCPD. '_Yes, sir. No, sir. Thank you so much, sir.' _Picking up scraps from my master's floor. Shy, awkward... pathetic Ed. Common criminals? Never again. I've shown this city who I truly am once before, and I will do it again. They will bow to the Riddler, and they won't get up until I permit them to."_

Reunification from Gotham to the Mainland took six months to completely finish, as the newly employed construction workers had to rebuild the fallen bridges. With Mayor Aubrey James back in office as the "_born again_" man of righteousness_—okay—_he made money moves such as reconstruction of all the buildings and residences that had been farmed out by the notorious villains of Gotham. To "_Make Gotham great again_", as was Aubrey James's election slogan, employment rates skyrocketed to appoint politicians and overseers of abandoned offices and businesses.

With the city in close shambles, all of Arkham Asylum's formerly escaped inmates were re-incarcerated by the new Commissioner James Gordon's depleted GCPD. Those who had left Gotham before Jeremiah Valeska's plans could come to fruition returned in hopes that they no longer would fear another tyrannical captivity of the city.

With the born again mantra of Gotham coming about, the city was in desperate need of a new Arkham Asylum owner, though the position seemed cursed due to every former owner becoming mentally unwell. The proof? Damascus Arkham, his son Jeremiah Arkham, and then Professor Hugo Strange, all went insane while in the position as proprietor of the Criminally Insane hospital.

While Oswald Cobblepot was referred to the BlackGate Prison for his many murders and extortion—collectively a ten year sentence in one lump sum—Edward Nygma went to the asylum for his crimes against Haven and subsequently every murder thereafter. By standards, it was established that Penguin go to BlackGate as he had already a certificate of sanity therefore committed his heinous acts while competent. Nygma's certificate of sanity was given to him by duress, and therefore found inadmissible in the eyes of the law. Although Gordon knew very well about the circumstances in Haven, it morally felt wrong to let 300 people's lives mean nothing in the event of a better, fair Gotham. So that was that about that.

Mayor James and Commissioner Gordon, along with seasoned Detective Harvey Bullock, familial minds of Lucius Fox and great judge of character Alfred Pennyworth collaborated to find a suitable warden whom should sit in the chair of Arkham's administration office.

Three months into the reunification process, the collective vote went to Moira Briarcliffe, a wealthy business woman with merely an addiction to collecting items of interest _("She's a hoarder,"_ Harvey had mentioned as a downplay for her perpetual hobby. _"In Gotham, that's innocent if ever I knew what that meant in this city")._

Knowing very well of the job at hand, she was quick to buy the estate from the city.

Along with the idea of a new Gotham, Moira Briarcliffe had the old Arkham Asylum reconstructed with an idea to make the inmates and patients feel rather at home rather than in prison.

Mayor James allowed the new proprietor of Arkham Asylum to rename it infamously as the Briarcliffe Asylum. And so the new era began, with the idea of personal care and sincere therapy for the inmates in mind rather than a toss-away dump for the insane individuals who were recidivists, along with those who could not function in the BlackGate Prison, or deemed hopeless by the Gotham General Hospital. The patients ranged from the general population of the innocuous variety, addicts and alcoholics who had no rock bottom, or those under the delusion that they were a chicken, or people who were hypnotized and couldn't snap out of it—up to the heinous and much needed security ward, whether for others or for themselves.

Of course, the authorities couldn't just take her word for it. Many have trousered under a guise of well intentions and generous claims all the while manipulating the system and its patients for selfish gains.

So a few months after business going well and general high ratings of her establishment, Moira Briarcliffe prepared the asylum for a tour by Lucius Fox and Commissioner Gordon.

Such things must be in order…

In _legal_ order.

Moira Briarcliffe seated herself in her office chair. A look of satisfaction on her face, poised by a prominent chin and high cheekbones. Her straight posture, and a head full of long, blonde hair and a smile on her face made her seem as if the office swivel chair was a throne.

Collecting items was a hobby of hers, indeed, as she had told Gordon and the Mayor. Innocent by trade, and a curious hobby as a front—but Moira's interest in the old asylum hadn't come from something generous and righteous.

She liked collecting people. A very curious hobby for a person to have to begin with, Moira fell in love with the idea of dictating the lives of the dark and mysterious and dangerous people in her very own zoo. Valuing darkness rather than light, valuing sadism and apathy over moral fiber, valuing brilliance and cunning over brawn and courage— Moira felt at home with those who were deemed throw-aways or misfits. But to her, she valued them all. Notable assets whom lined her metaphorical shelves.

One to note that she particularly was fond of was the Riddler. These days, he didn't much care for his real name. Two years of being the Riddler combined with an extra ten to being confined to an institution, Moira found his strength of mind to be impressive. He was the smartest of the bunch, a wicked but handsome smile on his face, glasses and all. Anytime she walked in the common room, he'd be around sharing riddles with anyone who competent enough to understand what he was saying. When Moira Briarcliffe walked into the common room, it was like the queen visiting her commoners. She certainly valued all of them, but there was an air of arrogance always to her voice when she spoke to them.

The promises of luxury and lethargy were kept...to a degree. Beds were more comfortable, the decor was finesse. The showers actually ran hot water. There were comfortable couches. They could play chess, or paint, play with dolls. Really, anything that they requested other than contraband was given to the patients...If they did as they were told.

Moira Briarcliffe liked to have control in their lives—when they slept, when they ate, what they ate, how they should act. And of course, what she thought was unacceptable.

Considered in the hospital by staff, orderlies, and even patients, they called her _"The Zookeeper";_ for if anyone was admitted, nobody was discharged from the Asylum whether they were sane or not. She hadn't made any certificates of insanity since she bought the property.

After a few years, she believed that even the least harmful of the bunch made her hospital noteworthy. So she kept them all. Every single one.

The new Briarcliffe Asylum housed more than 130 patients. If more came, Moira hired construction workers to add on more rooms, more dining areas, a bigger medical facility, a larger infirmary.

For ten years, there had been a quiet in Gotham; for there was no escape or odd things happening there. Gordon and Mayor James believed Moira kept her promises.

The staff certainly had their ways of controlling the unruly. The question of it being legal, well, what the authorities didn't know wouldn't hurt them. The Zoo Keeper always made certain that the beds were made, the bathrooms were clean, and all patients were presumably content, if not only to show Gordon and the Mayor that she had what the others didn't: control over their mental stability, a panache for running a growing establishment such as that.

Moira Briarcliffe resumed her paperwork on the desk, confirming the family supervision of a few innocuous patients. Some families of the generic mentally ill could visit on weekends, as long as they consented to a cavity search and their property examined by the security guards at the front gate. Moira wasn't for entirely isolating the patients from their relatives who still had hope that they would recover. Always, Moira would tell her Medical Staff to say "They're improving, but alas, they must remain here until Briarcliffe has believed that they aren't a threat to others or themselves".

She'd never let them go. But the families had to be reassured that, "one day", their loved one would surely be sane.

Moira heard a knock on the door, and she lit up a cigarette as quickly as she heard the knob jiggle and an older man, bearded and gray-haired, standing seven feet tall, ducked under the ceiling to stride to the front of her desk.

Moira grinned, sucked on the cigarette filter, and exhaled along with a gentle greeting,

"Ahhh. Dr. Arden."

"Good morning, Moira," said the tall doctor.

"Trouble?" Moira inquired, unconcerned.

"An unruly patient in the South Wing," said Dr. Arden.

"My _favorite_ corridor," Moira reflected secretively, nipping the cigarette filter with her teeth. "You should be used to the South Wing, Dr. Arden. They've lost their minds for the most part. Unfortunate souls, given into blood lust and a desire to jump the fence at a given notice. What of the patient, Doctor? Slit wrists this time? More trips to the infirmary? Another riot in the middle of lunch time? The walls closing in or the walls not close enough?"

Moira chuckled, rising to her feet, pushing the consent forms away from her.

Doctor Arden, a man of dark humor and taste, regarded her aloofness of her most valuable possessions with a raised eyebrow.

"Moira, for a woman who loves her patients, you have quite a knack of mocking them for their very real illness." Dr. Arden commented gently.

"Surely not offending your sensibilities, is it?" Moira teased.

"No," Dr. Arden returned sincerely. "I don't much care for any of them. But I think it's pointless to keep as many under the supervision your small number of staff if you don't intend to set them free. Lots of fun for you, more work for me—_to put it plainly."_

Moira made a noise of sympathy,

"_Aww_. Feeling overworked? You're a great man. Best at what you do, even better when you say nothing about it to the policemen." Moira swerved around the desk to approach him. His height compared to her 5'1" height had her only come up to the middle of his belly. "Tall glass of water like you, can't handle a few riff raffs?"

Dr. Arden's mouth tweaked at the right side of his jaw with a small smirk.

"I know you're just trying to butter me up like usual."

"That's right," said Moira sweetly. "I'm the only woman for you, right?"

Dr. Arden shared in their work relationship with a small smile, returning the usual remark, as he had always said he was married to his job, with a note of sincerity, "_The only woman who will keep me around."_

She exhaled sharply and tapped her fingers on her desk.

"All right, Dr. Arden, what of the patient?"

Dr. Arden approached.

"Dr. Hugo Strange," he said, "is _again_ requesting that you move him from the South Wing to the East Wing."

Moira grinned widely.

"So, he puts himself in the same ranks as Ed Nygma, does he?" Moira chuckled. "Quite a persistent doc, isn't he? Still getting the same tall tale every time he's sent to the infirmary? What happened this time? Did Professor Pyg find him distasteful today? One of the patients find his condescension especially unwarranted again?"

Dr. Arden gestured tiredly, for this was about the fiftieth time in five weeks that Hugo Strange bequeathed the administration to move him from the violent ward to the wing that hosted the intellectual and delusional minds of the hospital.

Moira took the issue personally, as Strange had been responsible for having Ed Nygma kill the people in Haven. So to put Strange in a ward where the very people he created and harmed were his fellow roommates seemed to be poetic justice. Hugo Strange resisted the idea that he physically killed anybody, merely being a man of mind—but by anybody's views, especially Ed Nygma's, Hugo Strange killed more people than anybody in the hospital.

"Moira, he is _at best_ extremely obnoxious to the other patients as well as the staff," Dr. Arden explained calmly. "Your orderlies find it hard to feed him because he thinks that the food is putrid. The pastor of the chapel has his own dilemma to seek out his so-called God to help Strange as he violates the order of life and death with his persistent tales of a mad scientist. The psychiatrist has rendered Strange as a hopeless case; every time Dr. Thredson tries to have a therapy session, the roles are reversed and Strange is the one asking questions."

Moira listened to her Chief of Medical Staff, nodding, knowing all this to be unsurprising. She continued to smoke until Dr. Arden finished his list of difficulties, and when she put her cigarette out in the small ashtray on her desk, Moira gathered a bottle from her desk drawer and held it toward Dr. Arden by the neck of the bottle.

"Darling," said Moira calmly, untouched by Strange's non-compliance, "My _dearest_ friend. Let me speak to him. Take a thirty and resume your work day with the rest of the hospital. No need to use all your resources on just one little man while others need your most undivided attention, Darling."

Dr. Arden looked as if she shut him down, but also relieved that she would take the matter in her own hands. He received the bottle by its body and watched Moira step out of the office confidently.

Maybe not to the others inside the establishment, but Moira made Gotham great again by not conceding to the demands of a raving mad Frankenstein. Dr. Arden sat in her chair to relax his nerves with a glass of her special liquor.


	2. Ch. 2: Request Denied

Chapter Two: Request Denied

Moira was escorted to the South Wing by an orderly named by Bentley Truant—26-years-old, average build, brunette, blue eyes, and a massive temper for an orderly at a hospital for care and sensitivity.

Bentley Truant was only one of very small selection of orderlies who could stomach the South Wing and wasn't afraid of them. With a history of elderly abuse in nursing homes, Moira gave him a job over the South Wing where there wasn't much helplessness in the patients. Just people who matched his anger, and should they grow unruly, Bentley could match them. He wasn't burly or very strong, but his anger could overcome that obstacle.

Despite his personality being that of a little boy who liked to pull apart the legs from Daddy Long Leg spiders, Moira liked him enough.

"He been talking about his stupid shit all damn day, Headmistress," said Bentley respectfully.

"I told you that you don't have to call me that, Bentley," Moira said amusedly, walking through the South corridor briskly with Bentley at her side, striding quickly to match her pace. "Moira is fine."

"Seems a bit informal," said Bentley.

"That's the point, child," said Moira.

"Well, we ain't friends."

"Oh, _I'm hurt_," Moira teased him. "I thought we were very good friends."

"You're my boss, ma'am."

Moira smirked and continued to walk ahead of him, always pleased that the moody boy respected her title and position. Perhaps she hadn't hit the mark as an elderly woman and that's why he didn't see her as a lesser than; but regardless, he was quite considerate.

He passed a card through a scanner and the steel door to the South Wing opened.

When Moira entered, the violent ward's common room was emptied as was protocol for the South Wing, and all inmates were in their cells, each room guarded by a Briarcliffe officer, hands on their pistols in their holsters at all times. The orderly led her through the empty common room, down the open hall of the patients' rooms. Before she would venture toward Strange's room, she checked on the various clients through their appropriated small door windows.

When all seemed to be in order, she greeted the guard who stood by Strange's door.

"Looking weary this morning, Officer Docks," said Moira.

The guard in question looked as tired as a person who had played about three rounds of 20 Questions with a toddler.

"Strange is unforgiving in his incessant discussion," Officer Docks remarked lethargically. "Been talking for a good minute until I told him that you were on your way. Hasn't said a word since." And then he breathed, "_Thank fucking God…"_

Moira smiled and patted him on the shoulder.

"You're doing fine, Docks. Go to my office, sweetie. Dr. Arden can treat you to something that will make the day a little easier."

Bentley watched Docks take off to Moira's office. He licked his lips enviously, knowing what lay ahead for the lucky cop. Bentley wanted to have a drink too, but Moira never invited him up to the office. Drinking on the job sounded pretty fun, but none of that for the loyal orderly. Moira caught his look of jealousy and shook her finger,

"One day, _my pet_." She caressed his jawline with consideration, and Bentley pursed his lips. "One day. But you have to earn your keep around here to get those kind of rewards."

"I'm loyal," said Bentley. "I do enough."

"Good enough isn't _good enough_," Moira remarked. "Thank you for escorting me to through the halls, Bentley. You're no longer needed here. Resume your duties, feed the patients, find Bella Donna May and get the East Wing ready for movie night."

"But—" Bentley wanted to debate the efforts of his loyalty, but the pointed look from the warden zipped his lips, and his cheeks strained with the tongue in his mouth flipping up and down to retort something to her, but he digressed. "_Fine_."

"Thatta boy," Moira approved, lightly tapping his cheek with her short-nailed, manicured fingers.

Bentley pulled his head away from her begrudgingly, as a small boy would when his mother wouldn't let him have a cookie or soda so close to bedtime.

Moira saw him cross the hall, and when a small cry came from one of the rooms, Bentley slammed his fists against the steel door and shouted angrily, _"Shut up!"_

Moira shrugged this incident off, scanned her ID card and inserted a key into a deadbolt.

The door opened and Moira looked down at Dr. Hugo Strange, who was reduced to a black-and-white clad little man with a full beard, looking worn and torn.

"_Hugo_." Moira said.

"My name is Doctor—"

"_Yeah_," Moira chuckled. "That title has been sacked for a few years. You're not a doctor anymore. You're a patient...of _my_ hospital. Remember?"

"I…" Hugo said, rising to his feet from his dismal, worn cot, "am _not_ just some toss-away inmate. You put me in this forsaken ward like I am a violent brute—"

"That's because you _are_ a violent _brute_," Moira said callously. "You're responsible for the murders at Haven, the murders of militant men whom were supposed to liberate Gotham when Bane and Nyssa took control. Killed a lieutenant. All your doing with your chips in the brains of two good men—"

_"It wasn't my call!"_

"Neither was it Ed Nygma's when you had him shoot an RPG through a window of innocent women, men, and children."

"I was going to be killed."

"Self-preservation must be your biggest weakness, Hugo. How pitiful you must feel that you are trying to make everyone a scapegoat—"

"This is cruel and unusual punishment!" Hugo said angrily, stepping forward to intimidate Moira. "I am asking you to move me to the East Wing. This was _my_ hospital too! These people here want my _blood!"_

"This hospital has been renamed and refurbished and is no longer your place of employment nor your rules. It is my playground, and I own every slide and swing. You don't even own the mulch that layers the floor... _Metaphorically__ speaking_. Of course you know what that means." Moira remarked with a breathless laugh.

She collected herself professionally, gratifying in Hugo's expression of hate. He wasn't used to condescension, but Moira insisted in putting him in his place.

"As for your desire to move to the East Wing," she continued, "That ward is for those who have unstable mental illnesses and is provided for delusional or highly intelligent patients, not _necromantic proteges."_

"I sense some favoritism," Hugo remarked. "You insult my work as if I were some incompetent barbarian—"

"Not exactly an inaccurate statement, is it?" Moira remarked snidely.

"You shouldn't show favoritism in your domicile, Moira. It'll be your undoing. Ed Nygma is a crazy, personality-split egomaniac with merely a penchant for riddles—"

"Not the time to psychoanalyze Edward, nor me, Hugo," Moira dismissed his proposal. "Edward Nygma is no longer suffering between two halves of the mind; he seems to have realized who he truly is. As should you realize what you really are: a mad scientist, who likes creating abominations in the basement for base value of doing so. I value intelligence in my little zoo I have here. You're _not_ intelligent. Your scientific curiosities are mere intrigues of what it's like to put three different colors of Play-Doh together to see what color it would make. _Primitive_," Moira explained dryly.

"I can be helpful." Hugo said, trying to appease to her. "_You_ aren't a psychiatrist. _You_ have no qualities that suit you for this mantle you've been given. You're no doctor. I can help you, and you wouldn't have to pay me. My freedom is _all_ I would ask for in return for my services."

"_I_ have all the help I need. It is _you_ who needs help." Moira said. "Your request to be transferred to the East Wing is denied.._.again_."

She began to leave but her hand was caught and Hugo held her back onto his room, eyes pleading.

"Please, Moira."

"You're in no position to bargain. I'm not your puppet on a string, little man." Moira ripped her sleeve from his grasp and pushed him into the bed. He gasped and realized his fealty. "Quit talking to my staff. Quit bucking the system. Stop harassing my orderlies, do not talk to Officer Docks."

"Moira, please—"

"We're done." She stepped out of the room, closed the door.

Officer Docks and Dr. Arden came strolling through the empty corridor and attending her standing in front of Hugo's bedroom door.

Moira sighed in thought. Arden waited for her statement of how to proceed.

She glanced at Hugo and then turned to Arden.

"Have him go to the ICU." Moira remarked.

"Thinking that he needs a little more intense therapy?" Arden said with a smile.

"Electroshock therapy seemed to be Hugo's preference to treat hard-to-deal-with patients when he was head of Arkham," Moira said casually. "It's how Penguin got his certificate of insanity before. Give Hugo a taste of his own medicine, Arden."

Arden nodded.

Moira patted his arm, "Don't be afraid to enjoy a little bit of it yourself, Darling. They say that if you like what you do, you never have to go to work."

"Will do, Warden." Arden commenced, nodding. He glanced at a now cheerful Officer Docks, gestured, and then Bentley Truant followed the orders given by their mistress. As Moira proceeded out of the South Wing, Hugo Strange's screams echoed through the concrete corridor, and then several others hollered out to chorus with his own, then eventually drowned him out by the whooping and laughing in the violent ward.

Moira smiled.


	3. Ch. 3: Briar Rose

Chapter Three: Briar Rose

Moira Briarcliffe was a constant face in her asylum. She did her own daily rounds to make certain that there were no moles inside the workplace, having known that Arkham Asylum was prominently known for shady business: security guards in the pockets of rogues and villains, dangerous escape missions schemed under the beds and behind posters of walls; hidden schematics for secret basements and easy-to-get-of vents in the patients' rooms. She gave each employee, no matter the rank or PhD, a lie detector test every week, to make sure that all of her medical staff, maintenance men, janitors, and chapel service workers were not conspiring together to undermine her dictatorship. Each patient's room was searched to the bare grit of the concrete in each wall; every thread of the blankets scrutinized for any contraband.

Moira left the East Wing for last on her patrol list, knowing that she'd like to see Edward before she had to go to sleep.

_Ahhh, the Riddler. _

She had known of him since he came to be who he was today: the murders of Kristin Kringle and Tom Doughtery; when he was Oswald Cobblepot's Chief of Staff—he looked quite phenomenal in a black and white two piece suit, power over the GCPD where he once worked—; his attempted escape from Arkham during Hugo Strange's outrageous experiments in the basement, and his eventual exit from Arkham under the guise of an authentic certificate of insanity manipulated by his future partner, Oswald Cobblepot; Edward Nygma, a whiz at strategy and quite the liaison for organization, attention to detail….His announcement of becoming the Riddler and wanted man of Gotham; the Riddle Factory and his relationship with the Queen of the Narrows _(The man hit five Banks in one day, quite the feat in itself to hit two)_—Then his out-of-characteristic murders of Haven, the Demonz Street Gang; and his assistance to Bane's takedown.

She knew it _all_.

And she greatly admired it all. His brilliance, his penchant for riddles, his flair for the dramatic—encompass all of these with his slim and tall frame, high cheekbones, and dark eyes—

Moira Briarcliffe left the East Wing for last on her patrol list, knowing that she'd like to see Edward before she had to go to sleep because she was in love. Not in love with him, but in love with the simple fact that her hospital held the smartest villain in Gotham. Even the fact that Jeremiah Valeska was part of the collection didn't satisfy her to what the Staff thought it did. It was Ed.

The closest way to stay near an idol was to either go into the building regularly for visits as a Clarice and Hannibal trope or to purchase the establishment all together, where the need to visit him would go without question—by staff nor authorities.

Moira was a collector of items of interest: from unique paintings to the macabre rogues of Gotham.

She was, indeed, _quite_ mentally unwell.

But Commissioner Gordon and the Mayor didn't know to what extent. A simple hoarder by their definition was delicate compared to the last three owners—Or hell, to all the criminals in Gotham.

Moira had arranged for the East Wing to have their movie night. Bentley would bring the patients out of their rooms along with the rest of the security guards. The Entertainment Director, aforementioned Bella Donna May would set up the film projector to cast the film onto an empty wall. Of course, Moira's Chief of Staff Supervisor Delbert Gray would make certain everyone else was doing their jobs as well.

Delbert Gray, as dismal and unenthusiastic as his last name, spoke with a monotonous voice. When Moira entered the East Wing to see that all patients were seated in white, plastic chairs, Director Gray approached Moira at the doorway.

"I hope you took care of the problem in the South Wing," he said. "God knows, I've tried; but the man wouldn't take no for an answer."

Moira set her hands in front of her, fingers entwined.

"The matter has been taken care of."

As she finished her sentence, the lights in the common room flickered violently, a sudden loud buzz erupted through the electric cords. While the lights flickered on and off, Moira glanced up at the ceiling with a look of sadistic satisfaction, with a grin breaking her professional gaze.

The patients reacted calmly, all staring up at the ceiling. Edward Nygma, seated in the back row of the array of chairs, slowly raised his head up to the lights, and he grinned widely.

Delbert Gray glanced at Moira.

"So, you did," Delbert said tonelessly.

"I _did_," said Moira knowingly.

"Dr. Arden must be hard at work," said Delbert.

"Harder than ever, Director Gray," said Moira with a light shrug.

"I should probably change the paperwork," said Delbert.

Moira shook her head,

"No, Gray. Put the electroshock therapy in his file. We'll have the watts and all the technicalities scratched from the reader by the maintenance team," Moira explained carelessly. "Should a core inspection come through and they desire to examine our patients, they'll question why the readers have shown that our mad scientist either had no ECT on his file when it was administered or worse: that the juice was up more than recommended. We're in for malpractice if we keep the therapy out of his file entirely."

Delbert Gray nodded his head.

"I'll call the team later this evening for them to come in early tomorrow. How long is Dr. Arden supposed to...give _special attention_...to Dr. Strange—"

"Told you not to call him Dr. Strange," Moira remarked, but the acidic tone that she had used with Hugo about his formal title was non-existent. A simple reminder. "Call him Hugo. Call him 'It'. Hell, call him by his patient number. Not doctor. He lost that the moment he started raising night club owners and former mayors out of the dead space. Remember that lad 'Azrael'?"

"Oh, how could I forget."

"Exactly. And to answer your question: Dr. Arden will be working through the night. I recommend that you shut off the lights come curfew so that—"

A whirring, buzzing noise from before suffered the lights one more time, incurring the film projection on the wall to blink furiously. Moira and Delbert waited for the lights to stop turning off and on.

When the lights stayed on, Moira continued her unfinished sentence,

"Shut off the lights, so that doesn't happen while the patients are watching the movie and before they try to sleep. Be best for their mentality."

Delbert nodded.

"Will do, Warden." Delbert confirmed.

Moira watched the Chief of Staff follow up on her recommendations. On his way out, he shut off the lights. As she turned to oversee the film being played for the mental ward, she noticed Edward Nygma in his seat, turned in his chair with an arm over the back..._looking at her. _

She wasn't intimidated by him. It was a feeling in her stomach as if a movie star had pointed her out from a crowd of fangirls. Well...maybe he _did_ intimidate her just a bit. Not afraid, just adulation.

Moira smiled in his direction, though she wasn't sure that he could see her face as she stood the furthest away from the light on the other side of the room. Whether he saw her or not, Edward's lips broke out into a wide grin.

He swiveled out of his chair and approached her.

A security guard a couple feet away from Moira noticed the patient moving closer, and he moved to shield Moira. But Moira, hands still clasped together in front of her waist, lifted a hand gently to halt further movement.

Edward approached, clad in his black and white inmate uniform, hair a bit too long, standing a whole foot taller than Moira.

She glanced up at him.

In the shadow of the room, she could see his partial features. Edward reached into his pocket, and he withdrew a red, construction paper origami. Moira's face brightened.

"What is this for?" Moira asked in the most professional voice, though Edward's constant gaze made the butterflies in her stomach toss their wings faster.

"It's a riddle." Edward said.

"It's a rose," said Moira, taking the origami from him.

"It's a _riddle_." Edward reaffirmed.

Moira cocked her head to the side. On her face, there was amusement. But in her head, she felt jittery that her idol was giving her one of his infamous signatures. Whether this was good or bad, now was not the time to figure that out.

Moira held the rose with interest, glanced at it as if she didn't know what to think of it. Because she didn't.

"Well, thank you…" Moira remarked.

Edward leaned in, "_What is beautiful when you gaze at it, relief when you take it, hurts when you touch it, but is worth the pain if kept?" _

Moira smiled.

"I'm not sure." Moira muttered.

Edward indicated the rose, "You're a smart woman, a politician if that, Madame Briarcliffe. Do what you do best. _Think_."

And then that was it. And he strode back to his seat to watch the film.

Moira gazed down at the paper origami, and then clutched it between her fingers. Something was inside it. Then, she gasped, and glanced at her fingers to find that a sharp objects had pricked them, pin pricks of blood.

Moira unwrapped the origami to find that Edward had wrapped thumbtacks inside the paper.

Briar rose.

A rose with thorns.

Clever riddle, but _ouch_.

Moira sucked her fingers to ease the prickling pain. She waved her hand away to let air ease it. Edward glanced behind him, pleased to know that she figured out the riddle.

He pointed at the crumpled paper and thumbtacks in her hand, and then pointed at her.

Was this a compliment? Or a warning? Or both?

Moira smiled. She could easily have Edward Nygma detained for breaking the rules: contraband thumbtacks, closing the appropriate distance between patient and counselor while speaking, harming a member of staff.

But she didn't. Maybe she should have asked an officer to escort Edward to his room for solitary confinement. But she didn't.

Edward gave her one more handsome smile and then turned his gaze back to the film on the wall, looking well-relaxed and confident in himself.


	4. Ch. 4: Dirty Words

Chapter Four: Dirty Words

Long days at the asylum consisted of frequent outbursts from the patients. It wasn't a quiet retiring home after all. Despite Moira's firm hand, they were mentally unwell, so Moira's days were spent going between the four wings of the hospital.

The South Wing was the violent ward: hardened criminals with a penchant for murder and otherwise heinous crimes. Those who took up that wing were several in numbers, the most populated section of the hospital that required numerous visits as many as the guards. Moira had a lot of turnover in employment in that wing. Entry level guards could only take about a week before they either quit that day or never came back. It was the same wing that infamous Jerome Valeska had occupied.

The East Wing was the mentally incapacitated (or as Moira had deemed it as the ward with intellectual assets): criminals whom were too smart for their own good, or had abilities that could render the population to a quelling piece of mud. Although they were capable and also committed murder, they were kept separate from the violent ward as they had a choice more or less to be violent. Edward Nygma and Jervis Tetch were the high-profile criminals in the ward, with Jeremiah Valeska as the poster child of the ward. Valeska might have been transferred to the violent ward had he any ability to move or change his own underwear, but he was currently a vegetable and in no way a threat to the inhabitants of the ward.

The North Wing was more or less the general population: no more threatening than those who were more prominent to violence. They were the throw-aways of Gotham. Sometimes, these sort of patients were admitted to Briarcliffe when the families or authorities or the Medical Center no longer wanted to tolerate their bizarre behaviors any longer. A few that stayed on the radar were as followed:

Carl "Bae" Aegis, a man who suffered from an erotomanic delusional disorder. The object of his delusion was Moira Briarcliffe. Yes, he believed that he and Moira were in love, star-crossed by her job and his attendance as a patient. If she didn't "come to call on him", he'd throw a fit involving screaming and throwing himself against a wall until Moira would visit the ward and allow him to give her a love letter always written in red crayon. The psychiatrist, Dr. Thredson, advised her to go along with the psychosis in order to avoid the patient from hurting himself or others. Moira felt no objection to this, due to the fact that she felt a sense of pride and ego whenever Bae gave her a love letter, knowing well enough that she didn't feel anything for him.

"Lusty" Lea, a nymphomaniac who murdered any man who refused her advances. Quite a lovely lady who many of the guards found attractive to begin with, Moira Briarcliffe occasionally had to visit the ward to make sure that the guards weren't accepting her offers, despite her reputation.

Kelly Montez and Kiera Montez, a pair of twins, matricide and patricide, killed their parents when they wanted to separate the twins. They killed their parents when the father and mother wanted to separate them during a custody dispute. They were 17 years old. Whenever the males in the ward tried to flirt with one of them, the other lashed out. Protective sisters, admirable.

Clint McLintock, a man referred to Arkham over a delusion that he was supposed to liberate Gotham of vegetarians. He murdered a couple of people, nothing too extravagant; the victims ran a stand downtown that supplied organic products. McLintock believed that humans shouldn't be badgered by those who chose the vegetarian lifestyle. Simple man. But murder is murder, so there it is.

Delilah Grey, a female who committed triple homicide. The victims whacked her horses in her barn. Animal lover. It was later discovered by Dr. Thredson that she had a peculiar taste for bestiality, and much later after that it was discovered that she was hoarding correspondence to a fellow nicknamed Killer Croc. Delilah really_...really.._.loved animals.

Patty "Tweak" Pale, a very nervous patient who suffered from a high-end of anxiety, shook a lot, didn't sleep really. The family got tired of her antics and sent her there to get rid of her. Poor girl couldn't even finish the assessment with Dr. Thredson before collapsing into an anxiety attack.

Heartache Bob, a patient who cried a lot, hypochondriac, insisted and presently insists to medical staff daily that his heart is literally breaking and needs a new one. His wife and infant daughter were killed in a car accident. An unfortunate soul.

The North Wing consisted of people who had committed murder or less. Nothing too raw or uncontrollable, less intelligent than the people in the East Wing.

The West Wing, or nicknamed the "Odds and Ends" Wing was the ward that consisted of the people who required special requirements for them to take up the rooms. Normally, Moira had her construction workers build the room in a certain way as the patients were, by the term, abnormal.

The patients in the ward were like Victor "Mr. Freeze" Fries and the various monsters that Hugo Strange concocted in his basement who had been lassoed by then Bounty Hunter James Gordon.

Mr. Fries needed a subzero atmosphere in order for him to reside in the Asylum. Another patient needed the room to be in high temperatures in order not to die from bacteria.

Moira traveled to each of the wings daily, so the day was strenuous especially if a noisy doctor kept sending guards and staff to her about wanting a transfer...or when others came through the entryway of the asylum to make tours.

Moira loved her hospital. But she didn't like visitors. Gotham University always sent their psychiatric and medically-inclined students to Briarcliffe to give them some higher-learning opportunities. Dr. Thredson and Moira would have to let the students tour the asylum. The act in itself was innocent; but Moira felt that this was a form of intrusion and didn't enjoy foreigners roaming through the halls. It was like a stranger walking into her home. Which, in this situation, was exactly that.

Moira entered the North Wing with the usual to-do. The patients were having breakfast. Sister Mary Margaret, the nun and secondary administration of the chapel services that the asylum provided, was tending to Carl "Bae" Aegis, calming him with words of tenderness. The patient had always expected Moira to come a few minutes earlier.

Mary Margaret looked up at the entrance of the wing and sighed in relief, then patted Carl's shoulder, smiling,

"Oh, look, Carl. _Look_. It's _Moira_."

Carl's brief look of anger and worry dissipated instantly as he raised his head to see the object of his affection. Carl almost fell out his chair and he ran toward Moira. As usual, when a patient exhibited any over-excited or aggressive behavior, the two security guards posted at the entrance, stepped in-between Carl and Moira. Carl was of average height, innocent looking, bit of a puppy face. He was forty-something with the hots for 26-year-old Moira.

Carl's face wrinkled offensively when the guards blocked his view of his lady love.

"Get out of the way, _goons_," said Carl irritably. "I want to talk to my girlfriend."

"She ain't your girl, old man," said one of the guards, and the statement in itself angered Carl. He reddened in the cheeks, and a not so innocent expression contorted his face to make him look a little frightening. Moira gently pushed aside the guard, replying,

"What a cruel thing to say to him, Officer Foil." She beamed at Carl, whose darkened frown was replaced with a kind, lovesick smile. "Hello, Bae."

"_Hiii_, Moira." Carl cooed, blushing.

"Have something for me, Darling?" Moira said with a smirk, leaning forward, and she lightly touched his shoulder.

Carl gasped, and grinned and slightly started to bounce on the balls of his feet.

"Oh, I knew you were still in love with me. Oh, I knew it. Not true what that guard said. He told me a dirty lie."

Moira cocked her head to the side. As Carl handed her his daily letter of adulation, and she took it, Carl frowned and shook his head.

"What lie, Darling?" Moira said sweetly.

"Filthy words of infidelity, my love. Absolutely filthy." Carl grumbled, shaking his head continuously, as if to keep out such dirty images.

"Carl, _honey_," Moira said intently, with as much sweetness as she could muster, "What did one of my guards tell you?"

"It was _that_ one," said Carl, indicating one of the men who had separated he and Moira before their conversation had begun. "It was him. Officer Foil."

"Oh? Well, what did he say? Tell me what he said, and I will set him straight." Moira pleaded. "Tell me, and I'll make it go away."

Carl sighed, as if speaking his thoughts into existence would make it come true.

"Oh, Moira. Officer Foil said that there is another man who has stolen your affections."

Moira didn't show it, but the stir of butterflies happened in her stomach and she had to hold back the strong pursing of her lips. She instead, feigned shock.

"Oh _my_, that _is_ a dirty lie. What else did he say?"

"Officer Foil said the man in question is smarter than me, smoother than me, and—and—" The dark expression returned to his face and in a growling voice, he uttered, "He said that you loved him _back_."

Moira raised an eyebrow, hiding anger that Officer Foil let slip about what happened in the mental ward, and indignation that he let slip about Edward Nygma's one-time gift. That beautiful rose origami.

"Oh, _sweetie_," Moira cooed, caressing Carl's face, "Do you believe that lie?"

Carl hesitated; but with Moira's tender touch, and the intense expression of doubt in her face, he shook his head.

"No," he said. "I don't."

"There's a good boy," Moira said in a gentle whisper. "Now, I have to grab the officer and let him know that you're the only one for me. Remember? '_You're my time and space…'"_

"...'_Forever and ever, babe',"_ said Carl cheerfully. "I told you that a long time ago!"

"I remembered, see? You remember that from now on anytime you hear such lies, you hear?" Moira said lightly.

Carl nodded happily.

Moira turned to Mary Margaret, who came to return the patient to his table for morning chow.

"Take him," said Moira. "I have to have a talk with Officer Foil."

Moira turned to walk out the door, and then to the mentioned officer, she hissed, "_My office. Now."_

Officer Foil winced, but followed after her.


	5. Ch 5: Breaking Confidentiality

Chapter Five: Breaking Confidentiality

Officer Foil and Moira strode through the North Wing with little words between them. Officer Foil made it a purpose to keep at least two feet behind his boss, knowing very well that he had either angered her or perhaps had spoken out of turn toward Carl "Bae" Aegis. His words to the patient did rouse him, and it was Moira's intent in the hospital to make the patients as comfortable as possible...as comfortable as they could be without letting them run the place as the warden before her had allowed Jerome Valeska to roam the halls at will.

With impending calamity coming up, Moira entered her office, then gestured with an arm for Officer Foil to close the door behind him.

The moment he did, he turned to see a hand and fingernails swipe across his mug swift and sure.

"_Ah!"_ Officer Foil was taken off his feet to fall against the door, as his boss had slapped him roughly across the face. He crumpled against the door, holding onto the knob to keep his balance. He rubbed his cheek from where her nails had scratched him. She hadn't drawn blood, but his cheek was hot. Certainly felt that.

He expected Moira to double swipe him, but he glanced at her precariously waiting for it; and when it didn't happen, he straightened his back, and firmly met her eyes.

While Moira regained her composure _(straight back, hands clasped together in the front of her pantsuit_), Officer Foil tried to make out a sentence to apologize.

"Warden," he said, "I know you're angry…"

"Well, I'm glad we can agree on that." Moira replied to him. Her voice was cool and collected, despite the indignation in her eyes.

"Warden, I only said that to—"

"Officer Foil, remember what I said about confidentiality between the four wings of the hospital?"

"Nothing leaves the wings."

"That's right. What you did is break the rules. I don't like rule-breakers." Moira said. "It is our best interest to keep the patients calm. You purposely upset Carl by telling him that I liked another patient. However false it may be, he truly believes that we are in a relationship. Now, it may sound bizarre and ridiculous to your simple mind, but when it comes to the mentality of the patient, you must abstain from making any comments otherwise. Do you understand?"

"Of course." Officer Foil said.

"Now," Moira sighed. "You are posted in the North Wing. Officer Docks is posted in the South Wing." She narrowed her eyes. "Which officer in the East Wing told you about Nygma?"

Officer Foil's brow furrowed.

"Warden," he insisted, "I only told Carl that Edward Nygma was a better suitable partner only to upset him because he was getting on my nerves. I only told him that you said you loved Nygma to make him mad. I was irritated with him. I don't know what goes on in the East Wing. I don't know."

"Lying to me?" Moira questioned.

"I'm not." Officer Foil said, shaking his head. "It's not a secret that you favor the Riddler."

"And how do I favor him?" Moira asked.

"I don't really want to say."

"Maybe you should stick to your job by just guarding, not talking then."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"But before I send you back to your post, you are going to tell me which officer told you about Nygma."

"What are you talking about?"

Moira smiled.

"Your post in the North Wing gives you no idea how I treat Nygma in the East Wing. So, who was the scrutinizing officer in the East Wing who told you how I treat him favorably so?"

"I don't want to rat."

"Oh. _Loyalty_." Moira chuckled.

When she approached him, he stepped back a few inches. Officer Foil felt a dangerous vibe from her.

"If you don't rat, I'll have Dr. Arden come to my office; and he'll take you to his lab down in the basement, and make certain that you will be a rat...or what he _calls_ a rat. I don't know exactly what twisted experiments he's got going on down there," Moira shrugged with a devious smile, "but I assure you that my employees who disobey me have never spoken a word about it. See?"

Moira's shadow cast over Officer Foil, who hesitated to speak.

"Warden, you don't have to threaten me."

"I wasn't threatening you. Merely telling you that I haven't seen my past employees who refused to do as I ask. See? Dr. Arden surely could get you to speak better than I ever can. The man's quite persuasive. So…" Moira flattened the material of her pantsuit. "Tell me a name, and I won't let the good doctor make a very, very, thorough cavity search of your personal organs...I _mean_…" Moira smirked. "Your _belongings_. Your belongings, _of course." _

Officer Foil gulped, and nodded.

"Lovely." Moira said gently. She gestured for him to follow her to her desk, where she withdrew the liquor bottles that she had offered Arden and Officer Docks. "Have a taste, my good man."

"Her name," said Officer Foil, "is Officer Goodman."

"Ah, one of the girls," muttered Moira with lament as she withdrew a glass for Officer Foil.

He took the small full glass of booze and shot it down his throat with dire need. Something to wash away the numbing sensation in his hands. She had frightened him. But now since someone else was the object of her frustration, he felt suddenly at ease.

"Officer Goodman," he told Moira reaffirmingly. "She told me that Nygma handed you a weird-looking paper thing."

"_Origami_," Moira corrected him.

"She said it had contraband in it."

"Thumbtacks."

"She said you liked it."

"It was a riddle," said Moira fondly. And a smile on her face told Officer Foil that she really _did_ like it.

"Okay." Officer Foil muttered. "So...am I off the hook?"

"Yes," Moira answered. "Return to the North Wing. And don't egg on Carl anymore." She frowned slightly. "I don't want to talk to him more than I have to."

"Yes, Warden."

Officer Foil fumbled with the doorknob in a nervous manner before letting himself out of her office, more than happy to be dismissed. Moira glanced at him rub his face where she had marked him.

Then she sighed. Contemplatively, she leaned against the front of her desk, and then nodded, as if to confirm the thought in the forefront of her mind.

Moira reached behind her into a drawer to bring out a resignation paper, and in the spot where the name would be, she wrote: "_Annie Goodman."_

Moira clicked a button on her officer phone line, speaking clearly and business-like,

"Dr. Arden, could you please come to Warden's Office at your earliest convenience?"

From the speaker off her business phone, Dr. Arden's elderly voice returned with a slight pant, "_Oh...I'm a little occupied right now. Give me twenty minutes?"_

"Of course," Moira said. "Just have your private office cleared out before you come up here. We've got a little problem, Darling."

"_Message received, Moira. I'll have it ready before I head up there."_

"Thank you, Darling."

_"Always a pleasure." _

Then the line clicked off.

Moira swiveled around her desk to take a seat behind it, where she filled out Annie Goodman's resignation letter and paperwork. In the reasons for leaving, Moira listed "_Non-compliance_" and then filed them into her computer as a permanent "_Do-Not-Rehire_" for Annie's future references.

Then Moira awaited the good doctor's arrival to begin the permanent termination of Annie Goodman.


	6. Ch 6: Forget Me, Forget Me Not

Chapter Six: Forget Me, Forget-Me-Not

_Click. Click, click, click. Click, click, click._

Moira placed the finishing touches on Annie Goodman's profile just as the door gently opened to show Dr. Arden ducking under the threshold in order to step through. He rubbed his hands together with a little to-go germ sanitizer between his fingers and pocketed the little bottle, rubbing it into his skin effectively.

Moira glanced up from her computer and smiled.

"Finished?" She asked curiously.

"I apologize for my tardiness. It took longer than the time I allotted to get everything in order. I—"

"You don't need to tell me what you were doing in your office, Dr. Arden." Moira dismissed him. "We'll have to make a trip to the East Wing. Immediately."

Dr. Arden watched the warden rise to her feet.

"Moira," said Dr. Arden. "I understand your desire to keep the patients and your employees in line, but the missing persons in your rodex cards are going to raise some eyebrows if you decide that one girl needs to die because she let slip a small detail."

"Favoritism leads to jealousy," said Moira. "Men have reacted violently under the suspicion of infidelity. This is about keeping Carl 'Bae' Aegis calm and trusting."

"_Is it?"_ Arden asked lightly. "Or do you not want the police to find out that you really do enjoy the fact that Nygma gave you a small rose."

Moira rolled her eyes.

"What happens in the hospital stays in the hospital. Besides, you all are making a great deal out of something small. Nygma likes riddles." She made a flat out gesture, "He's the Riddler. _Riddler_. _Riddles_. See the connection?"

"Don't patronize me."

"Don't question me." Moira remarked. "I don't like rule-breakers. Annie Goodman broke confidentiality. Simple as that. So, we're going to retrieve you; you will do your job. I'll do mine. Bring her to your office. She's quitting today."

Dr. Arden was hesitant, but he digressed and then sighed.

"I guess I'll be pulling another long shift tonight?"

"Make her disappear." Moira disregarded his annoyed tone. "Turnover is regular. Nobody is going to bat an eye to find out that there is another opening in the East Wing. Do the job, Arden."

Dr. Arden glanced down at his hands as she crossed the room and passed by him through the door. He nodded,

"Of course, Moira. It will be done."

Upon entering the East Wing, the clock on the wall ticked ten times. Ten o'clock at night. Moira and Arden entered the nearly empty common room.

Most patients were sent to bed around 8:00. But those who were insomniac stayed up a little later. Snack time was provided for the wakeful patients. Only about five people were roaming around the common room.

While Arden retrieved a very confused blonde Annie Goodman, Moira watched the fateful officer glance in her direction, and then the expression of dreadful understanding fell upon Goodman's face.

"Come with me, Annie," Dr. Arden said gently. "The warden just wants me to give you a lie detector test. Purely routine."

"Of—Of course," Annie muttered, allowing Dr. Arden collect one of her arms in his large hands.

Moira gave Annie a dark look. Then when the two disappeared out of the ward, Moira turned back around only to jump slightly and fall a couple steps back.

"_Evening_." Edward Nygma greeted her, standing in front of her.

Moira straightened, hand on chest, and took up a few breaths of air before speaking,

"Ed, honey," she breathed, "You scared me."

Edward grinned widely, hearing the little pet name come from her eloquent lips. He had a gaze that made her feel vulnerable, but her stomach quivered deliciously as she met his eyes.

"_You're_ jumpy." Edward said with amusement.

"Long hours."

"Mm-hm," the low growl hinted skepticism. "I wonder how much productivity can be effective in the late hours of the night." His tongue searched the corner of his mouth contemplatively. "A polygraph test at 10:00 at night. Quite a time for such a thing."

"My employees must be ready at all times for these tests."

"Drug tests, perhaps," Edward remarked. "Polygraph tests are only required by reason, not by chance or suspicion."

"_Edward_…" Moira warned.

"Oh, I'm not prying. Speaking aloud," Ed said with a smirk. "Helps the gears keep turning. Not exactly a helpful trait in a cage, but I do enjoy your nightly visits."

"That's good to hear."

"Mm, not good enough, I imagine," said Edward.

Moira's face faltered, hoping that her fondness for him didn't show. He had taken her aback by such an accurate account. But she fixed her face.

"What do you mean?"

"It doesn't take two people to escort an employee to take a polygraph test. Certainly Dr. Arden could handle Officer Goodman. A kind woman, a lover, not a fighter.," said Edward calmly, swiftly glancing at the door that the two had vanished through. Then he turned his head back to her, wearing a smug smirk. "You came on your own," he poked at her shoulder. "Not on necessity, but on a whim. Or _was_ it a whim?"

"Are you trying to get in my head?" Moira asked, though she hoped he was trying to do that. She did love their little conversations.

"Trying? No." Edward said, then his face broke into that wide smile that Moira appreciated, that made her melt like putty, that made his entire appearance resemble that Chief-of-Staff, camera smile.

"I don't have to try to get in your head, clever girl_._ I'm already there." Edward whispered in a low voice so that the others in the room couldn't hear.

Then from his pocket, he withdrew a blue colored origami. This one was shaped as a wildflower. Moira, flushed red by his compliments and now a second offering, glanced at the origami in his hand.

"No thumbtacks this time, Warden," Edward said sweetly. "Promise."

"You're not bluffing, are you?"

"If you know me as well as you think you do, you already know the answer." Edward said in a low voice.

Moira nodded. She took the origami and gave it a pinch. _No thumbtacks._

"You don't bluff." Moira commented.

"I don't bluff," Edward repeated in a tone that made Moira's hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

It was as if the room went dark and only she and Edward stood there, meeting each other's eyes. Moira cleared her throat and lowered her gaze to the flower in her hand.

"And, uh," she found it unnecessarily difficult to phrase the question, "What...What's the riddle tonight?"

"Oh, if this was a riddle, you'd figure it out too quickly," Edward remarked.

"Then what kind of flower is it, Edward?" asked Moira curiously.

"Forget-me-not."

"I don't see how I could."

Edward chuckled. "No, Moira. The _flower_ is a Forget-Me-Not."

Moira's mouth fell open as she realized she spoke unprofessionally and then tried to recover but Edward shook his head,

"Did you know," he cut her off, "That the Forget-Me-Not is native to Africa and was introduced to American gardens for its beauty and simplicity?"

"Uh...No, Edward, I didn't…" Moira said quietly.

"It's considered to be an invasive plant. It can disrupt a healthy biodiversity, as it naturally grows without much needed sunshine and water irrigation."

"I...I…" Moira smiled. "I'm not sure why you're telling me this."

"Do you know why I like that flower?" Edward asked.

Moira shrugged.

He glanced down at her hand and said,

"Forget-Me-Nots don't give off their irresistible fragrance until very late evening." He subtlety moved in and Moira's face burned as he heard him inhale to take in the scent of her hair. "Late evening…" he muttered.

She felt her hands get a little sweaty. And she forgot how to stand properly.

Edward clicked his tongue, returning Moira to the present.

"Thank you, Edward," said Moira softly.

"No," he whispered. "Thank you. As I said, I do enjoy your nightly visits."

He strode away from her, leaving her with a sort of shell-shocked expression, holding the Forget-Me-Not origami in her limp hand.


	7. Ch 7: Tour Guide

Chapter Seven: Tour Guide

"_We're just requesting a tour for—"_

"I know, _I know_," Moira remarked into the office phone, wheeling her chair under the desk as she turned on her computer. "I know. Your interns tour my hospital more than tourists visit the Mammoth Cave, I know why you're requesting a tour."

"Miss Briarcliffe," said the professor of the Gotham University on the other line, "we really do appreciate the opportunity. But might you let the students avoid the violent ward. I'm certain that some of them are getting PTSD from seeing what goes on in there."

Moira chuckled into the receiver, shaking her head.

The professor questioned the laugh, "Miss Briarcliffe, I'm being _serious_."

"Professor Bureau, your students want the opportunity to experience mental illness firsthand. And not to state the obvious, this _is_ Gotham. Most of the patients in my hospital encompass the South Wing. More and more violent criminals are referred to Briarcliffe each day, each more chaotic than the next. It would be more efficient for the students to see the criminals that are more relevant to Gotham's depravity—"

"Moira, please. The students are more interested in your _East Wing_."

Moira's jaw torqued with disgust and uneasiness. She sucked her teeth. She rolled her shoulders back crossly.

"Of course they would be," said Moira flatly.

"It would be an educational opportunity for them to get the chance to actually interview one of your patients—"

"No."

"_What?"_

Moira shook her head. She cracked a pen in her other hand against her desk, agitated. Moira reached for her mug of coffee, sipping, and then clarified the issue for the Gotham University,

"Your students are merely interns, incapable of taking a Q and A without upsetting the patients. Most of them have tried to take a survey for the East Wing, and always the same patients become rattled and unnerved that the students wish only to know if their mothers and fathers touched them in an inappropriate place."

"That was a _separate_ incident."

"And a _last_ one," Moira said. "I will allow your students to come into my asylum and stay in the hallways to observe my patients through the glass. That is the closest to hands-on experience that I can provide—"

"That is not enough to finish our curriculum. The statute requires each student interested in the field of psychiatry to interact with someone who is currently—"

"_Then_," Moira emphasized, "by _all means_, they can speak to my psychiatrist on site, Dr. Thredson, who is in the field of medicine and personally knows each of my patients _firsthand_."

"Moira—"

"Clyde," said Moira, "I have been very generous in entertaining the school by allowing them to witness the wards in their own habitat. You must take into account of the feelings of those who are still conscious of the fact that there are people walking in and out of the wards to observe them as if they were animals in a zoo. Now since one of your students thought that it was a good idea to interact with Lea for shits and giggles—"

"The student in question has been suspended for leading that girl on—"

"The _student_ in _question_ very well knew that Lea is a _nymphomaniac_ and merely stating the idea out loud that it would be nice to _bang her in a bathroom_ made the patient outstandingly difficult to sedate." Moira said irritably. "Your students act as if this is a funhouse, Clyde. I don't appreciate it. So, my offer is withstanding as before: _they may be escorted by my orderlies and my psychiatrist, Dr. Thredson, to observe the mannerisms of the violent ward without interacting with them_."

There was silence on the other line.

Moira picked up a pack of cigarettes while awaiting the professor's answer and lit one up, inhale and exhaling.

Then a soft relenting sigh came from the ear piece, and Moira nodded.

"Fine," Clyde Bureau digressed. "Your terms are our terms, after all."

"Then when should I expect your class to show?"

"Sometime in the beginning of next week. I'll email the details."

"Wonderful. Looking forward to it. Good day, Clyde."

Moira hung up the phone and sighed, glancing at the office phone and muttered, "_Putz_."

Moira pulled her long, blonde hair into a slick ponytail, letting it fall down one side of her shoulder. She clicked and clacked on her computer keyboard. As she began to check the email, her eyes glanced at her desk drawer and then paused.

Moira slyly opened the drawer and withdrew the Forget-Me-Not origami. The Riddler certainly knew how to woo a woman, even if the entirety of the relationship was unprofessional and most likely dangerous.

She was falling for his intelligent, flattering gestures look steps in the dark. Moira knew that the visits and receiving his small gifts were an allusion to what she wanted most; but even if nothing would come of her enamored obsession with Edward, she didn't want this little stipend to stop.

She loved his attention, and even more loved the idea that it was in her hospital that he was imprisoned. He made no move to touch her implicitly, made no comment that would raise any real suspicion from the inmates or the guards. He knew their boundaries, but lightly stepping his toe out of line made Moira's stomach burst with butterflies.

Her fingers toiled with the edges of the creased paper.

Then the office door opened and Moira quickly dropped the origami into the door and slammed it shut. She cleared her throat and saw Delbert Gray enter the room.

"Good morning, Director." Moira said.

"Morning." Gray answered montonously. "I'm sorry, was I interrupting?"

"Nope," Moira remarked with a tight voice.

"Your face is red. Are you blushing?"

"_Nope_. How can I help you?"

"Sister Mary Margaret and Father Day Copper suggested that it would be healthy for all the patients to get some air." Delbert Gray said. "The courtyard has been finished for them to enjoy some sort of exercise or at least to see the sky. Might help with some of the craziness."

Moira smiled.

"Yes, cabin fever is quite risky behavior, isn't it?"

"That's what they say."

"Take precaution, Delbert."

"I was going to take the East Wing and the North Wing out into the courtyard first; then the South and West Wing next. If the two sectors interact, neither will be more affected or threatened than the next." Delbert suggested.

"Take them to the courtyard then, but make certain that Dr. Thredson and Dr. Arden are present just in case the wards get rowdy or consider trying to jump ship for a spree around Gotham."

"All right. Would you like to come along and observe?"

_East Wing meant Edward Nygma in a courtyard. _

"_Delighted_," Moira replied with the familiar hint of fondness.


	8. Ch 8: Envy

Chapter Eight: Envy

The Briarcliffe Courtyard was new territory for Arkham. When Moira had bought the property, she had an idea to allot some outside recess for the patients as it seemed a good idea to give them some time outside of the building. Cabin fever was definitely a horrible feeling in itself, and Moira believed that it made the mentality of the patients worsen over time.

The Courtyard had to be like BlackGate Prison: a large, concrete and barbed wire fence, concrete floors, some tables and a few exercise equipment so that the patients could experience some sort of freedom.

Moira waited until the yard was sealed tight. Today was that day. As a test run, Moira had over 100 security officers from BlackGate Prison to oversee the activities, along with the appropriate orderlies and such to keep an eye on the crafty patients. Although the East Wing consisted of general non-violent criminals whom wouldn't slam their heads and fists into the wall to break free, even Moira had to consider that Edward Nygma could materialize a plan of escape within minutes of given the time. And time was what he had. Ten years of it.

Moira led the East and North Wing through the large corridor that led to the Courtyard. The orderlies and guards flanked either side of her, along with Dr. Arden and Dr. Thredson, with Bentley Truant and Sister Mary Margaret and Father Day Copper carrying the left and right front of the group.

When the steel doors opened to allow the large crowd to break free into the courtyard, Moira and her cronies stepped aside to allow the patients to spread out like an ant colony, all of them taking in the morning sunshine.

Moira smiled cheerfully as they all looked up into the clouds, gazing up into the horizon as the sun started to rise.

Two in particular took advantage of the East and North Wings coming together in the wide sector.

Moira clicked her tongue and directed the attention of Dr. Thredson and Dr. Arden to follow her gaze, where it landed on Edward Nygma and Carl "Bae" Aegis, both of whom found each other rather quickly despite the numerous amount of people in the yard.

Dr. Thredson, bespectacled and handsome, stood beside Moira who both watched the two interact a couple feet away from them.

Carl "Bae" Aegis approached Edward first, looking at the Riddler with disgust. He stood two feet shorter than Edward; so the height difference was quite impressive when Ed stared down at the little man.

Dr. Thredson was quite aware of the predicament, for he had been the one to advise Moira to play along with Carl's psychosis. He was also aware of the fact that Edward Nygma, whether it be infatuation or a form of manipulation, was interested in Moira.

However it was perceived, to Carl, it was a long-awaited confrontation since he discovered that another man was showing interest in his "girlfriend".

While Dr. Thredson looked mildly uncomfortable with the competitive patients standing within two feet of strangling distance, Moira did her infamous one hand slightly raised to subtly tell him "_Wait_."

Moira was intrigued. Secretively, she really wanted to see what this scenario would bring about.

"_You_," said Carl, already on edge, looking up at Edward as if he were the scum on his shoe. "You're trying to get in the middle of my girlfriend and me."

"I really don't know what you're talking about," Edward stated, blank-faced, though his tone sounded smug.

"I love her." Carl remarked.

"That's cute," said Edward.

While Carl began to redden in the face, more likely because Ed wasn't responding vehemently as he wished he'd react, Carl thrusted a finger at Moira and then shoved a finger into Ed's diaphragm...the only highest part of Edward that he could reach.

"She's loves _me_. She doesn't love _you_. I have given her a letter everyday since I've met her. She calls me 'Bae'."

"_Oh_, you're talking about the pretty warden," said Edward softly. He grabbed hold of Carl's finger and shoved it away. "Yes, but everybody calls you that, don't they?"

"You're going to stop talking to her." Carl demanded. "You will cease all discussion and gift giving with her. She's _mine_."

"Is she?" Edward asked Carl gently.

Carl grit his teeth.

"You're trying to get in my head."

"No, I'm asking you, truly, if you really believe that she is yours? You know I'm not the only patient in Briarcliffe who has had their eyes on her. Surely, you must know that there are countless others in the other wards who look at her and think more intrusive thoughts than...well, harmless little old me."

When Carl's face fell from intimidation to confusion, Edward nodded, smiled, and indicated a finger to Moira casually.

Carl glanced at her. Moira's expression stayed stoic. She didn't show anything that she was feeling, trying to remain professional. Though, inside, she was smiling widely as she watched Edward manipulate Carl's simple mind.

"What do you mean, Mr. Riddler?" Carl muttered, now suddenly taking in the whole courtyard suspiciously.

"Oh, my, I don't wish to upset you. I shouldn't have said anything. I'd hate to get you ever more angry at others the way you came at me—"

"_Others_?" Carl remarked irritably. "What do you mean '_others_'? _Tell me what you know!"_

Dr. Thredson made a step to remove Carl from his presently upsetting situation, but Moira once more inclined for her psychiatrist to stay where he was. Despite the doctor's objectifying glance, Moira shook her head once more.

"Carl," said Edward in a low voice where Moira could barely hear him. "Have you noticed how the guards look at her when she turns her back? The way the others in your wing might covet the way she walks with authority. To some people, arrogance is something of a desirable trait."

"What, like a turn on?"

Edward nodded, affirming Carl's suspicion.

"Oh, not that she means to lead them on," Edward calmed Carl's horrified expression. "But could you imagine what those beasts in the South Wing think about when she makes her daily rounds? Some of them are in there for..._well_," Edward said intensely with a shrug. "_You know." _

Carl resumed to grit his teeth.

"I'll protect her."

"Oh?" Edward inquired. "And how will you do that exactly? You're a patient. Patients aren't allowed to use violence. Of course, if you managed to obtain something that could render your opponents useless—"

Carl didn't give Edward a chance to further explain this useful tactic. And Moira hadn't expected Carl to react so quickly, for the older gentleman reacted with dire jealousy and territorial envy that he reached behind at him an officer whom had been waiting to act on Moira's orders.

And he pulled the officer's firearm from his unprotected holster.

Edward grinned, but along with an alerted crowd and a confused number of staff, he ducked down as Carl "Bae" Aegis pointed the gun at the numbers of staff and patients who remained standing—

And he fired.

Moira, having expected a fist fight or a two-year-old's temper tantrum erupted into a scream for fear for her staff and the chaos that ensued—patients running for their lives, a calamity of staff members trying to check on their fallen comrades—Dr. Thredson tried to approach the maniac with a gun to talk him down—But it was Dr. Arden who arrested Carl's violent shooting with a quick syringe to the neck—

And in minutes, it was over.

Moira, sweaty and hand clasping her chest, stared down at Carl "Bae" Aegis, now a clump of skin and bones, lying dead in the courtyard. As if a cold reality hit, Moira called out to the BlackGate Prison guards,

"GET THEM BACK INSIDE! LOCK DOWN! NOW!"

Patients ran to and fro—the East Wing ran rampant across the large courtyard, all whom seemed manic and out of control due to the outbreak of disassembled structure; Sister Mary Margaret and Father Day Copper did their best to help those who cowered on the ground in traumatic fear, soothing calming words to them as they pried dead weight from the concrete. Dr. Arden went around the yard to the guards whom had apprehended the hysterical types and sedated them quickly in neck. Dr. Thredson turned to Moira.

"Carl Aegis's blood paints your hands, Moira," he said coldly. "I told you that this was a bad idea."

Moira frowned.

"_You didn't tell me that—!"_

"_What?"_ Dr. Thredson snapped, "That he'd lose his mind if the Riddler got in his head! As if you don't know exactly what happened. He's doing it to you too—"

Moira cut him off, waving at him, and said angrily, "Do your job. Help _them_. Get Nygma into solitary confinement."

"You're—" Dr. Thredson began to argue, but Moira raised her voice louder over his,

"_DO AS I SAY!"_

Moira retrieved her cellphone from her pocket and dialed 911, and spoke into the receiver as someone picked up on the other line,

"This is Moira Briarcliffe of the Briarcliffe Asylum. I need ambulances sent immediately to my hospital. Several are wounded, some dead…" a pause, and then she snapped, "_Never mind what the fuck just happened, get over here and save my people!" _

Moira scowled, shoved the phone back into her pocket.

And then she looked up to see the Riddler gazing at her as Dr. Thredson cuffed him and began to escort him through the courtyard.

What Moira felt was a jumble of fear, anger, and, if she were being honest, something like admiration.

Edward Nygma was quite the manipulator.

Perhaps she had underestimated him. Perhaps she had forgotten why he had been referred to the asylum in the first place. Either way, it cost Carl "Bae" Aegis his life and countless others.

But the way he stared at her, Moira felt a dark fascination begin to grow stronger. And the perversion grew too.

Dr. Thredson passed by, but so did Ed. And he said,

"He really did love you, didn't he?" Then with quiet delight, "Don't feel bad about this. Nobody would have guessed about how he'd react. Well, a couple of people—your doctor…" He then smirked. "_And harmless, little old me." _


	9. Ch 9: Aftermath

Chapter Nine: Aftermath

_"YOU'RE ALL IDIOTS!" _

"Miss Briarcliffe, could you _please_ take a _minute_ from yelling at your security guards," rushed a paramedic irritably, grabbing the owner by the arm to pull her out of the way, "so we can get help for _everyone_?"

Moira, who was a frazzled array of unkempt blonde hair, angry eyes, and pale in the face, was shot back to reality when Gotham Memorial Hospital's EMTs rolled into the courtyard through the emergency entrance. Through the frenzy, the paramedics rushed into the yard to tend to the patients of the East and North Wings whom were harmed during Carl "Bae" Aegis's slaughter, and also to the security officers who had been taken off guard by Carl's disarmament of the closest guard's firearm.

Moira had turned to place the apportioned blame on the 100 security guards from BlackGate Prison whom had come to make certain that there weren't going to be any foul-ups. Dr. Thredson had warned her that allowing the two wings who contained Bae _(Moira's then adulating and blushing admirer_) and Edward Nygma _(whom Carl had been told that he had been the object of her affections_) in the same vicinity where the two could and definitely would confront each other was a bad idea.

However, Moira had wanted them to meet. Wanted to see how Edward would react when Carl claimed that Moira didn't belong to him, maybe to see if he expressed jealousy.

But it wasn't as Moira had planned.

Edward manipulated Carl. Pushed way too many buttons. Made Carl blow a gasket and then shot anybody that he could with Officer Foil's licensed firearm; and still Moira didn't know if Ed had expressed jealousy or if he was having his fun. His little gifts to her and now this intentional twist on the competitor in the other wing increased her curiosity and impressed her.

But she wasn't going to admit that to the Gotham Memorial Hospital. And she knew that Commissioner Gordon and maybe the mayor would come to call on her after discovering that a patient managed to get a hold of a weapon and onslaught the staff as well as those in North and East wings.

Moira was more or less upset that the scene attracted outside interference—an intrusion into her beautiful zoo of collectibles—and the EMTs were stepping all over it.

Moira turned to the irritated EMT supervisor,

"You do your job and _get out."_

"Miss Briarcliffe, these patients—and your employees—they have to go to Gotham Memorial Hospital—!"

"_No_," Moira seized the man's arm as he made to turn away. "You can't _take_ them! My physician can tend to them—"

"—Your physician is _one_ man, my men can help—"

"—You can take my _staff_, they can go but you _won't_ take my patients—"

"—We have a secure facility for the mentally ill, an infirmary—"

_"I SAID NO"_ Moira cried out angrily, stepping in front of the supervisor.

The competition to help the patients and employees turned into a territorial dispute. She didn't like the EMTs stepping into her domicile. She didn't like them trying to take them away. Moira held a shaky finger up to the supervisor, who now looked at her as if she should have been admitted to the asylum herself,

"You take your men and my staff whom are hurt. And you get out of my courtyard. _Now_."

"Look, lady," said the supervisor with a hand steadily lowering her finger. "You are on some freakin' uppers and maybe need to cut down, or you need to have your brain checked for a spring that's busted loose—either way, I can't leave here knowing that men and women's lives are at stake."

"Yes, you can," said Moira, nodding. She noticed her reputation dwindling from grace with this scene alone, and inhaled a deep breath and passed a hand through her untidy hair. She then explained calmly, "Look, I have an infirmary in my hospital for occasions such as this. My doctor has several assistants, we have nurses. My nun and my pastor are also certified in keeping the patients calm. They're familiar with my hospital, both patients and staff. Let me keep my patients here, you take my wounded employees. Please," she added reassuringly with a sweet, sympathetic smile.

Moira convinced the EMT. He relented and ordered his paramedics to collect the wounded staff—and when they drove away, Moira turned her attention to her remaining employees, who all had taken notice of Moira's temper tantrum. Dr. Arden, whom had taken out Carl with one swift movement, steadied on with a woozy East Wing patient, Nymphomaniac Lea, who was grasping at the collar of his white, doctor's coat.

Lea had been one of the victims caught in the crossfire. Her stomach was oozing blood, showing bright red through her black and white inmate dress. Dr. Arden kept her hands from prying any further than the surface of his clothing, a little irked that despite her fatal wound, she was still trying to advance on him.

"Go ahead," permitted Moira patiently, nodding, though still looking frantic in the face. "Do your jobs."

Dr. Arden, Orderly Bentley Truant, Sister Mary Margaret, Father Day Copper, Dr. Thredson, and surgeon's tech Clara Tall, along with fifty eligible nurses and assistants went about the courtyard to help the debilitated patients to the infirmary.

When the security officers of BlackGate Prison made to resume their posts, Moira made a piercingly loud whistle through her teeth. They stopped. She shook her head,

"No, _you_ dunderheads make your way back to your little hellhole."

"Miss, some of us are badly hurt—"

_"I don't give a damn,"_ Moira remarked. "Take the fucking bus back to BlackGate. Clearly I don't need you all here in the first place, as this seemed to be the proof. Go."

"But—"

"_OUT!" _Moira shrieked.

Despite the officers clad in vests and firearms, most of them winced—more out of the deafening pitch of her voice than her actual intimidating presence. They huddled toward the exit of the courtyard for the three bulletproof vans and out of her sight.

When the medical staff carried away the wounded from the grounds, and the officers of BlackGate were well out of sight, Moira turned to the next matter at hand.

Officer Foil, sooner than later and much to his dread, was left alone in the courtyard with his very angry-looking administrator.

Moira's pale face pinkened as a new wave of fury flushed her high cheekbones; and her lips pursed. Officer Foil held his hands up, taking a few steps back. The officer who had told Carl "Bae" Aegis that Edward was smarter, smoother; that Moira belonged to Edward; that Moira had said that she loved Edward—He had been disarmed by Carl. And Moira's displaced fury for the EMTs' intrusion, the officers of BlackGate, and now the Asylum being on the radar for a known death and _(if the patients and staff employees didn't make it)_ several others was directed to whom she believed was responsible for all of it.

"I—"

"_You,"_ Moira said in an invasively low and shaky voice. She pointed a red-polished finger at him. "Look. What. You. _Did_."

"_What?"_ Officer Foil said incredulously. "Fucking Bae was the one who fired off rounds—"

"From _your_ gun!" Moira said angrily, stepping forward and Officer Foil fumbled backwards. In her scorn, she could only breathe the words as her temper flared once more, "You incompetent—careless—_disposable_—IMBECILE!"

"I didn't do anything!" Officer Foil said loudly, trying to dominate this sentencing to a conversation that could be negotiable, but he heard his voice crack as a sarcastic smile flickered on his boss's face. "I _didn't!"_

"_No?_ How stupid do you have to be to not think that a patient wouldn't go for your gun?"

"He wasn't mad at _me!"_ Officer Foil retorted, slapping his hands to his chest.

"No, he wasn't. But he's not really the one you have to worry about now, _IS HE?"_ Moira fired back and she seized Officer Foil by his tie, wrapped it up furiously around her clenched tight fist and pulled hard so that the security officer gasped a bit with the grip around his neck.

"Moira—"

"The cops are going to be on their way here to investigate what happened," she shoved her face within inches of his, eyes glinting, "and I don't need you telling them that this fiasco came about because you don't know how to keep your goddamn mouth _shut_," Moira remarked, jerking the tie tighter with each harsh syllable, "Your _stupidity_, your _lackadaisical_ desire to make Bae envious for your _only_ reason of being _annoying!_ You're a thorn in my side…"

Moira released Officer Foil who gasped, loosening the tie quickly to regain needed breath.

He coughed, doubling over, inhaling gulps of oxygen.

"Moira, please…I—"

Moira shook her head,

"I really don't like you. Actually, I can't recall ever liking you to begin with. I like you much less than I liked Annie Goodman. So…" she shrugged her shoulders and flattened her pantsuit, as if it had rejected her bizarrely rampant movements earlier, trying to calm it down. "I don't have a problem in firing you."

"No one else will hire me." Officer Foil said quietly, shaking his head. "My prison record—"

"You don't have to worry about that, dear," said Moira calmly. "See, I was going to have our favorite Dr. Arden tighten your lips, you know...A sewing needle, some thread...But why deal with all the headache?"

Officer Foil's eyes widened, and he frowned. He moved his mouth hesitantly to find the right words to proceed her words, and then inhaled quiveringly.

"Are you threatening me?" he asked softly.

Moira smiled. But then her smile flickered when Officer Foil slowly withdrew his returned pistol from his holster, keeping the weapon at his side, finger on the trigger.

Moira looked at him with consideration, glancing at the gun in his hand. She clicked her tongue.

"Sure you wanna do that?" She asked, indicating his firearm with her eyes.

"You're gonna do the same thing to me, aren't you?" Officer Foil said quietly. His blue eyes stared at her, meeting her gaze challengingly. "I don't want to, Moira. But I am not going to end up like my friend, Annie."

"Well, then," said Moira with a sigh, "Guess I'll just have to let you go, huh?"

"You're bluffing."

"Try me."

"You lie," said Officer Foil, shaking his head. "You don't want anyone leaving here."

"Not true," Moira replied. "I let the EMTs take my staff."

"But you wouldn't want me to walk out of here knowing what I know…"

"_Mmmm_." Moira took a step toward him, and Foil suddenly raised his firearm to point it directly at her face, rattled. "And what do you _know_, Dear?"

"Moira, I am a convicted felon. No one would believe me if I said _anything_…"

"You're burying your own grave," Moira said. "You've implied that you know too much, and that you would talk. You're not making your case."

Officer Foil thrusted his firearm at her jerkingly, "I AM THE ONE WHO IS HOLDING THE GUN! I COULD SHOOT YOU!"

"Of course, you could." Moira said. "But you've—"

Before she could finish her sentence, Officer Foil held the trigger down with his finger and fired.

But nothing happened.

Officer Foil glanced at his gun, and then pulled the trigger again. Empty clicks. He looked up to see Moira inexplicably close, and she wore a devious grin. Then she grabbed the gun out of his hand. He stumbled backward as she pushed him away from her.

"You're a fucking idiot," she said. "Carl emptied your magazine, _remember?" _

Then she clipped his jaw with the handle of the pistol, snapping him hard—he fell to the ground. Blood from his mouth oozed from the corner of his lip. Moira chuckled and looked down at the disarmed officer, who covered his face with an arm.

"Coward." Moira muttered. "That police academy has really shelled down on their graduates nowadays, huh? They'll let anyone be a cop."

Moira made a hissing noise, and stopped down to squat on the support of her ankles, eye to eye with the bloody-lipped man. Her fingers interlocked each other as she silently considered her options.

She detested him. And she very well might have let him go despite his implication that he'd be an unreliable narrator. But Foil's dedication to avoid Moira's punishment by pulling the trigger gave her means to want to dispose of him. He had intended to kill her right then and there. And at this time, all considering his past treacheries and now the police would be on campus within an hour at the very least, Moira seemed uncertain of what to do.

Clear-headedness was what she needed. Moira clicked her tongue, withdrew her phone from her pants pocket while remaining squatted in front of fearful Officer Foil, and dialed a number.

"You stay here…" Moira told Foil with bared teeth. "You move, I'll bury you in a shallow grave."

"Moira…" Officer Foil pled for his life. "I can be useful to you."

Immediately when he finished his sentence, Moira blurted a laugh through her lips, unable to hold it in.

"_Riiiight_," Moira said, truly amused. "Useful, huh? Kind of like how useful you were as my guard? Not impressive."

She held the phone up to her ear.

"Please, Moira. Please."

"Shut up, I'm on the phone."

"Moira—"

"I SAID SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Moira screamed at him, and abruptly rose to her feet to stomp him in the stomach.

Officer Foil called out in pain, wrinkling and curling on the concrete in recoil. His hand held his stomach.

Moira returned her attention to the phone call to which she said quickly, "_No, no,_ not you, Father Day Copper. _No_. I was talking to Officer Foil."

Moira defused immediately, redness from her face fading as quickly as she had flushed. She pinched the bridge of her nose, listening to the magistrate on the phone for a quick half a minute and then interrupted,

"_Okay_, that's great news about them all. I don't need to know everybody who was injured and what they had. As long as they're alive. They're alive, _right_?"

Officer Foil glanced up to see Moira smile.

"Oh, wonderful."

Another pause.

"Yeah, I am still trying to figure out what to do with Foil," Moira said. Then she rolled her eyes quickly, "No, not _foil_, Copper. Foil. _Officer_ Foil." She hissed again, "_Idiot_."

She made a series of affirmative noises, "Uh-huh, uh-huh. Yeah. Right. Of course...of _course_. Well, I'd certainly like to keep him out of the way of the GCPD when they arrive. Could you do that for me, Copper?"

Silence for a minute. Moira growled, "Look, I don't care how you do it, just do it; and do it _NOW_."

She hollered into the phone and then hung up.

"It's like I'm working with a bunch of morons." Moira said sadly, speaking at her phone in her hand. "I don't get paid enough for some of the shit they pull."

"What...Are—?"

"Shut up, Foil. Don't worry. You're not going to die. Father Copper will make use of you in the chapel. Cleaning toilets and such. So...get up, clean your face. Your days are about to get very busy."

Moira watched him to struggle to his feet.

"You'll clean toilets until you can't bear the smell of bleach. Your fingers will blister from scrubbing the floors on your hands and knees. This will just have to do until Commissioner Gordon isn't a potential threat."


	10. Ch 10: Was I Jealous?

Chapter Ten: Was I Jealous

Moira's agenda hadn't been finished yet. There was still the matter of speaking to Edward in solitary confinement.

Her patients would recover. Even Lusty Lea would only take a month to be able to join the rest of her wing in activities. Dr. Arden and his staff of nurses were very good at what they did. Sister Mary Margaret took to offering the hurt and wounded some crackers and some water to keep them comfortable. She was compassionate to the females in the wards. A little sign of an angel in a dark world. Father Day Copper regularly prayed over the heads of men in the hospital who desperately needed saving. He had taken care of Officer Foil: stripped him of his officer uniform, confiscated the gun and badge; and Bentley Truant gladly thrusted an inmate's uniform on the officer instead. Foil was reduced to a patient who performed chores for 12 hours and then was restrained to a room in the violent ward.

Before Commissioner Gordon would come calling to find out the details of the slaughter in the Briarcliffe Courtyard, she had to make certain that Edward Nygma wouldn't amuse his mammoth ego by claiming that he was the instrument in the bloodshed.

So when Moira came walking into his padded cell unaccompanied by any staff members, she came with an assertive attitude, opening the door with a curt expression on her face.

Edward had taken to a desk in front of his bed, where he sat in a chair in front of it, head bent over and hands busying themselves with something that she couldn't see.

"Good evening, Warden," said Edward pleasantly. A finger pushed his glasses up his nose. He didn't look at her. He didn't seem remorseful at having spiked Carl's anger, nor upset that he had made quite a frustrating day for Moira.

"_So_," said Moira with a frown, "Did you do that purposefully or by mistake?"

"What did I do, Moira?" Edward asked with a smile.

The way he said her name made her stomach turn with delight. But she was more irritable to be flustered by his low baritone.

"_Don't play coy with me,"_ Moira remarked.

Edward made a small laugh, and turned in his chair full-bodily to face her. He let an arm fall from the back of the chair. Moira caught sight of a card on his desk. She cocked her head to the side.

"You wanted us to meet," said Edward.

"Don't know what you're talking about." Moira remarked too quickly.

"Yes," Edward said. "You do."

He rose to his feet and took the card in his hand.

"You know what I've learned since you've taken over Arkham, Warden?" Edward cooed, taking a few steps toward Moira. She watched him carefully, but he posed no physical threat. "You like to see how people react in a controlled environment. Like mice in a _maze_," he drawled the last word.

Moira made a sarcastic smirk, "You don't know what you're talking about."

"A reply like that means I'm spot on," Edward returned. "You don't consider me to be a dangerous man, not physically anyway. And that's fine. But I am not intimidated easily... obviously. And you want to know if I was jealous that _Bae_ was giving you love letters."

"Yeah?" Moira said quietly. She stepped toward him and stood within three inches of his face. Edward gazed down at her with a simpering smile. Moira placed her hand slowly on his jawline. His face contorted to one of mild confusion. He could feel her red-polished fingernails gently scrape his cheekbone.

"So, you don't intimidate, honey," said Moira softly. "That's not how to talk to you, is it? You don't respond well to threats. Of course." She thumbed his chin, admiring his jaw and high cheekbones.

Edward's brow furrowed.

Moira considered him, and she sighed.

"What do you have in your hand?"

Edward handed her the card. She withdrew her hand from his face, though Edward still kept an odd expression even when she opened it.

Moira saw a riddle inside, and then several green question marks spotted over the white inside. There was a little pop-up image inside it, another briar rose that looked like the one had given to her before. Crafted, impressive, and beautiful, the card was a really nice gift.

"You made this for me?" Moira said, gazing at the rose inside. "Why do you keep making these, Edward? Why only me?"

"It's nice to be appreciated," said Edward gently.

"Are you talking about _you_ or _me?" _

"Seriously, you want me to answer that?"

Moira met his eyes and said curtly, "Yes, I do."

"Read the riddle."

"No," said Moira. "Just _tell_ me. What is it about me that you are attracted to?"

Edward shook his head, "You read the riddle, and I'll answer that. That's how this goes."

"What is '_this'?"_ Moira asked him, closing the card. "What is your agenda? With Carl, with me? I can't figure you out."

"That is the general point," remarked Edward.

"What—?"

"Read the riddle, Moira."

"_Just tell me!"_ Moira remarked.

"I don't respond to threats."

Frustrated with his vague replies and affectionate but disclaimed gifts, Moira gritted her teeth, and she reached for Edward's neck and shoved him against the desk, leaning him backwards over it so his feet barely touched the floor. Moira leaned over him, hand around his throat and an angry expression on her face.

"_You don't get to mind-fuck me."_ Moira growled. "I am _your_ warden. You answer to _me_."

Edward slipped two fingers between her hand and his neck to keep his air flowing, and then smiled again.

"_There it is."_ Edward said approvingly.

"_What?"_ Moira snapped.

"You're a dark one," said Edward. "I saw you in the courtyard with Officer Foil. Your temper is _quite_ untempered."

Moira's lips quivered like a dog with bared teeth.

She set her face within inches of his, pinning him against the desk. His smile made her stomach butterflies flutter insistently, but she felt inclined to show him that she was in charge.

"You used to be so boring and _drab_, Moira," said Edward. "But you've got a temper now, which makes you interesting. And I like interesting people."

"You think I'm interesting?" Moira asked curiously.

"Oh, _yes_," said Edward with a struggled nod in her grasp. "I haven't seen Annie Goodman recently. And the window in this room leads to the courtyard. I saw you beat up Officer Foil."

Moira furrowed her brow this time.

"So you've been giving me these little gifts, why?"

"Warden," said Edward. "_Read the riddle,_ and I'll tell you."

Moira nodded, then she released him and let him rise to his feet. She still held the card in her hand, wrinkled around the edges from her rough grip. Moira opened the card to see the briar rose once more, and she read the riddle aloud as Edward looked on with satisfaction.

"_The raven-haired boy swooped down to admire the girl on fire; he reached for her as she danced in the flames, singeing his wings on desire. She gave him her hand and he took her to new heights, where she burned as bright as the stars."_

Moira glanced up at Edward.

"This isn't a riddle. This is a poem by Christy Ann Martine." Moira said plainly.

"It's a riddle," said Edward.

"What, the poem is about _me?"_

"The _rose_ is you." Edward said.

"My temper," said Moira calmly. "Do you think this about me?

Edward grinned with a nod.

"So _answer_ me, Ed," said Moira insistently.

"Fine," he relented. "Here is my answer to your question you've had on your mind for a few weeks now, hm: _Was I jealous?"_

Moira waited for him to tell her, but—

She was surprised when he leaned forward and kissed her on the lips. A swift inhale from her and a hesitation to strike him. Moira raised a hand to bat him off her. Edward caught her wrist and lowered it to her side, and wrapped his arm around her waist to pull her close. Moira eased into the kiss, and then she slipped her tongue into his mouth to kiss him deeper, letting the card fall from her hand to the floor.

The answer was _yes_.


	11. Ch 11: Suspicious Spaces

Chapter Eleven: Suspicious Spaces

Commissioner Gordon and Detective Harvey Bullock waited outside the large, iron-wrought gate of Briarcliffe Asylum. Detective Bullock had taken up smoking, lighting up a cigarette while he and Jim waited for the new proprietor to meet them.

Moira Briarcliffe emerged from the front double doors of the asylum, clad in a dashing black, white, and green-trimmed pantsuit. Her white heels clicked the concrete as she strode with her hands clasped together in front of her torso, a calm and settling demeanor of one who ran quite an establishment. She was flanked on either side by her superintendent Delbert Gray and Dr. Arden, both in their appropriate work attire.

Coming within five feet of the gate, Patrolman Dally West pulled the lever in the highest watch tower to allow the gate to slowly and creakily part the gate to allow Gordon and Bullock to walk within the perimeter. Moira greeted Commissioner Gordon with a sincere handshake, a pleasant smile on her face.

"Morning, Commissioner."

"Good morning, Miss Briarcliffe."

"Please, call me Moira."

"Excellent."

Harvey held a hand out to her, and Moira shook his hand as well.

"Morning, Moira."

"Morning."

She glanced at his cigarette.

"You can put that out when you're done. We don't allow guests to smoke on the premises." Moira said coolly.

"Guests." Harvey muttered.

"Families _do_ come visit the patients," Moira said.

"I imagine that's a gloomy occasion," said Jim.

"Not necessarily," intercepted Delbert Gray. "The families are allowed to partake in some activities such as group therapy; Sister Mary Margaret takes confessions for the female patients and Father Day Copper, the males. They talk to the families and give them weekly updates."

Moira glanced at Delbert with a sly smile, and then turned back to Jim and Harvey.

"He's my superintendent. He acts in my stead should I become occupied," she said. "Bella Donna is the entertainment provider; she organizes movie night and she and my psychiatrist on sight, Dr. Thredson, allow the capable patients to play games that nurture communication and understanding so can they return to society. But we make very sure that there won't be a relapse, as it happened when Hugo Strange released Penguin and Barbara Kean."

Jim nodded.

"Sounds like a very appropriate regime," he approved. "You helped Barbara, and I can't thank you enough."

Moira nodded appreciatively.

"Nice to be recognized. Barbara was actually the most well-behaved. Of course, she was sane in the end, having the ultimatum and so forth before reunification happened." Moira made a soft smile. "How's your little girl?"

"Sprouting," Jim atoned cheerfully.

"Lovely."

Harvey glanced between the two of them and made a finger gesture that pulled them back to the matter at hand, and then asked Moira pointedly,

"What do you mean by '_capable patients'?"_

"Obviously the ones who won't try to stab you in the eye with a pencil," said Moira sarcastically. "The East and North Wings participate in activities like that. The South Wing is restricted to one-hour of visitation, heavily secured, and always through a glass..._The violent ward,"_ Moira clarified for Harvey Bullock.

"And the West Wing?" Gordon inquired.

"The West Wing can't participate," said Moira. "And families don't come to visit. The patients in the West Wing are tenderly looked after due to their specific needs in order to stay as clients. Victor Fries is probably our best example for the West Wing," she added with a sympathetic look. "The man kept even step into the hallway to go to the bathroom. My maintenance crew had to install a restroom of his own. Ironically, he's gotten fond of warm food. But the West Wing stays out of the affairs of the entertainment."

She tossed her hands up and explained, "It is for the safety of the other patients."

Gordon made a small smile, "That's why we're here, you know that, right?"

Moira's sympathetic gaze disappeared.

"_Yeessss_." She drawled. "I suppose we should skip the niceties and get right to business, eh, Commissioner?"

"I don't intend to be push," Gordon said, noticing the change of the asylum owner's disposition. "I do have a busy schedule, and yours is just a well to-do. If your asylum is as in orderly structure as you say—"

_"It is_." Moira interrupted curtly. Gordon glanced at her cautiously.

"_Then,"_ Gordon continued, "You have nothing to worry about. So...could we...?"

"Of _course_," Moira drawled with a forceful smile. "Of course you can interview all whom you see fit. However, I do have to forbid any interrogations with my patients."

"Something to hide?" Harvey suggested.

"_Amazing_ you're still on the force, Harvey, Darling," retorted Moira with an unimpressed, annoyed frown. "_No_, not because I have something to hide. Everyone behind a steel door is mentally incompetent. You won't be able to trust a single word they say. And, if you did," she added carefully, "it wouldn't hold up in court."

Gordon and Harvey glanced at each other for a minute then Gordon stepped forward.

"Do you think Edward Nygma would be competent enough to talk to us?"

"What makes you think he would, to you?" Moira replied. "You're the one who threw him here for ten years."

"Do I detect a hint of distaste?" Harvey suggested.

"_Why don't you let your boss do the talking?"_ Moira said to Harvey waspishly, growing irritated. She wrinkled her nose in disgust, but inhaled sharply to gather herself. As she had done before, Moira flattened her pantsuit along her waist, and exhaled to regain her composure.

"Fine, if you deem it necessary," permitted Moira in her normalized tone, "you may speak to Edward. But I'm telling you, he won't say much. And if he does, he'll open his mouth long enough to insult you and then he'll turn to stone."

"Maybe you should come with us?" Harvey, once again, suggested.

Jim Gordon seemed to be courteous; but Harvey Bullock was really riding Moira's back with a suspicious tone that she really didn't much care for. _Had Annie Goodman gotten word to the GCPD about her abuse and corruption in her domicile before Moira could dispose of her? Had the EMTs reported how Moira had acted when the paramedics tried to whisk away her patients? And, what was more daunting, did Gordon suspect that Moira had something to do with the slaughter in the courtyard? And did Gordon think that Edward, rather incapable of telling whole lies, would tell them what happened?_

Moira made a surreptitious chuckle, kindling the idea that her having immoral issues in her work place was ludicrous. The laugh itself seemed to put Harvey off curiously.

"I'll have my staff escort you both to Edward's cell."

Dr. Arden and Delbert Gray, both of whom had been standing silently while their warden spoke to the police department, moved to gesture for the two officers to follow them.

Moira pulled Dr. Arden away as Gordon and Harvey followed the monotonous superintendent. Her grip on her doctor's arm was tight.

"_Listen to me_—" Moira had begun to instruct him, but Arden nodded his head and patted Moira's tight fingers on his forearm.

"It's fine, Moira. I know what to do."

"If Edward says anything, if _any of them_ say _anything_—"

"I'll take care of it, dear." Arden said in his elderly, gentleman's voice. "Don't I always take care of the wreckage?"

"I'm serious," she said gravely. "For all they know, Bae went fucking nuts and disarmed Foil and started shooting. They don't need to know about the love letters, or Ed's gifts to me—Not about Annie Goodman, nothing about what I've done_—Noth_—"

"_Moira_." Dr. Arden soothed her anxious instructions, smoothing a hand under her chin for a quick second. "This is fine. I'll make sure that the policemen think that you're the best proprietor of Briarcliffe in her throne. I don't believe Edward will say anything. How much he is enamored with you, I imagine he'll say very little. Besides, didn't you speak to him last night?"

Moira straightened suddenly.

"Of course, I did."

"Does your late-night conversation with him give you any hunch that he'd say something bad about you?"

_We kissed, I'm pretty sure he'd say nothing bad about me_, Moira thought. _But would he tell Gordon that he's been giving me gifts?_

"No," Moira answered Dr. Arden and herself simultaneously.

"Then you've got nothing to worry about, sweet pea," Dr. Arden said, patting her hand once more. "I'll have them see the patients in the infirmary, Edward next, and we'll take them to speak to Dr. Thredson."

"Sounds good."

"I better chase after them or they'll think something is wrong."

"Of course."

"Uh, could you let me go?"

"Oh!"

Moira released Dr. Arden's forearm, swiftly apologizing. Then the good doctor went to follow the tails of the policemen. Moira looked up to the window to where she knew Edward was surveying her. Not that she could see him, but she definitely could feel eyes on her.

_If anybody fucks this up, I'll be having massive turnover for employees again..._


	12. Ch 12: The Place Checks Out

Chapter Twelve: The Place Checks Out

"How often do you release your patients, Moira?" asked Harvey.

"I don't." Moira answered truthfully.

Jim made a small chuckle, "Surely _some_ of them show promise of returning to society?"

"Why, Jim?" Moira remarked, looking straight ahead as they strode down the corridor of the South Wing. "By all accounts, you know that most of the patients that are dismissed from this building when it was Arkham are recidivists."

Jim shrugged with a look of agreement; and Harvey really couldn't disagree. Moira smiled innocently. She cocked her head to the side, and continued,

"I don't keep them here purely out enjoyment, Commissioner," Moira lied convincingly, "Or else what kind of rehabilitation would this be for people who need our help the most?"

Jim smiled.

She gestured for them to keep walking.

"When the patient understands remorse and understands that what she or he did was illegal and immoral, they can become part of society. But honestly, none of them have been able to get that far into their treatment," she explained. "Dr. Thredson and my clergies decide if the patient is being sincere when they seek a plea of expiation."

"Expiation?" Harvey muttered.

"_Atonement_," clarified Moira, "for their sins."

"What, a _confession?"_ Harvey jested. "Most of these psychos spout off apologies the whole time they're getting arrested!"

"That's why my psychiatrist is always present to dispute whether or not they are truly remorseful or if they're just telling us what they want us to hear. Confessions are sort of therapeutic in themselves. To admit one's wrong is the first step of getting to the root of troubles. _Honesty_, Detective," said Moira, "is the _real_ therapy."

"Sounds iffy," said Jim.

"Not exactly, Darling," Moira replied. "My psychiatrist is very qualified in the art of deception. He's trained to watch microexpressions," she added. "Little glimpses of truth on a deceitful face."

"I suppose," Harvey suggested, "that your psychiatrist advised you not to use the courtyard as a playground."

"It was an experimental exercise that ended in a tragedy, _Detective_," Moira scolded him. "At least _try_ to show some sympathy. I only wanted to make the patients more comfortable, let them see the sun other than seeing it out of a small window of their padded cells."

Jim glanced at Harvey with a frown.

Harvey held his hands up apologetically, though wearing a doubtful expression. Jim patted Moira on the shoulder, to which she glanced at his hand as if he were rubbing boogers on her pantsuit.

"It's _fine_," Moira said, shrugging away his hand. "Unless you work in this sort of field, it's hard to find compassion for people who aren't like you."

She continued to walk with them until they were in front of Hugo Strange's cell. Moira caught the eye of the mad scientist through the window of his cell, and then turned back around to look at the GCPD, smiling woefully,

"Of course, there are always the _hopeless_ cases."

Jim and Harvey saw that the person she was implying as hopeless was Hugo Strange, who immediately jumped up from his bed to bang on the door, crying out for help.

"He's given us a _lot_ of headache," Moira told them.

Jim came into the sight of Hugo and then Hugo cried out,

"_James! James!_ She's a cruel _tyrant_. She isn't helping us, she's torturing us! _James!"_

Moira smirked surreptitiously, standing behind Harvey and Jim as Hugo tried to persuade the GCPD of her hidden agenda.

"I don't see any physical abuse." Jim retorted coldly.

"It's _mental_ torture!" Hugo cried out. "I don't belong here! I belong in the East Wing! I'm not a _violent_ man! She is only keeping me here because she favors Edward Nygma, she is keeping me here out of _spite!" _

"You had thousands of people killed," Jim said. "You've had your hand in everything since I was a rookie in the GCPD. And you're lying—"

"_NO! No!_ Whatever she has told you," Hugo said with a dire expression on his face, shaking his head, "She's _lying!_ The woman is _sick_! Nobody leaves Briarcliffe unless she says! They never—"

Moira pounded hard against the window to which Hugo's face was pressed against, and he recoiled in his room, rubbing his nose. Moira shook her hand, rubbing her knuckles. She made an apology and turned to the officer who was stationed by his door. Officer Docks kept his mouth sealed shut. To speak the truth was to die. And today wasn't his day. He glanced at Jim and Harvey and said supportively,

"He's been like this since he's been in shackles, Commissioner."

Moira chuckled, and shrugged when Harvey and Jim turned to her.

"I told you, Jim," Moira said with a hand toward Hugo's cell. "They don't show remorse for their actions. They are ill. Psychopaths. Strange doesn't think he's done anything wrong. We've obviously tried reaching through to him with different types of therapies, but—"

"It's not _therapy!"_ Hugo called out from his bed. "They _electrocute_ me! It's not shock therapy! Dr. Arden, _he—"_

Officer Docks clocked the window hard with a baton. _Whack!_ Moira approved of the officer trying to keep the doctor quiet. Jim furrowed his brow.

"It's _clearly_ not working just yet," Moira said disdainfully. "But we're persistent. He's a psychopath who needs intense treatment."

"_She's threatening me!"_

Moira scowled and gritted her teeth, fighting off an urge to scream at him. She managed to restrain, but her voice was tense and shaky as she spoke to Officer Docks,

"Honey, when we're done here, please have Dr. Arden and Dr. Thredson come by for a _therapy_ session."

"Are you always this informal with your patrolmen?" Harvey questioned.

"We're like a family." Officer Docks volunteered with a smile.

Moira inclined a hand to him as a "_There ya go"._

Harvey turned to Jim, "Come on, Jim. Let's just do what we came to do and get the hell out of here. This place is giving me the creeps."

Crossing into the East Wing corridor, Moira led the GCPD to Edward's cell. Approaching the white wall and door, Moira reached for her badge to scan the lock on his door, but Harvey stopped her quickly with a hand on her wrist,

"_Whoa, whoa!_ You're just gonna let him out like that?"

"Scared of the Riddler, Detective?" Moira inquired teasingly. "Both of you are still armed, and he's got nothing to use against you."

She removed his hand from her wrist amusedly and turned to Jim.

_"I told you._ He's not going to be much help to you." Moira insisted. "I told you that Carl Aegis disarmed one of my officers and started shooting off rounds. There is no rhyme or reason why he open-fired on us. Nothing that would seem sane. But if you want to interrogate my mental patient, I have to open the door. He'll think it rude that you'll want to speak to him like anybody else."

Jim frowned at the idea of giving Edward a chance to build his ego.

"Is that _really_ necessary?" Jim muttered.

"You said you wanted to speak to him, did you not?"

"Yes."

"You're the man who had Edward admitted to my hospital. Not exactly _forgiving_. So if you want to interrogate him to find out if I am telling the truth about Carl's death, you will have to do it _his_ way. Or he won't say _anything." _

Jim exhaled an annoyed growl, but he relented: "Do what you have to in order for him to talk to us."

"Very well," Moira obliged cheerfully.

Moira removed a badge from around her neck and slipped over the scan block. There was a _whirring_ noise and a metal click, and the metal detached from the wall. The door slid open and Moira, Jim, and Harvey stood before Edward Nygma, whom was busied by reading a book in his hands. Edward was lounged on his cot, long legs stretched out to the foot of the bed. He glanced up over his glasses to smile at Moira, but when his eyes fell onto his former colleagues of the GCPD, he scoffed and shook his head.

"Edward," Moira said intently, "The police want to ask you about what happened in the courtyard the other day."

"They should know better than to ask me," Edward told Moira, though he looked directly at Jim. "I'm a patient. Anything I say would just go away. Isn't that right, Moira?"

Jim and Harvey exchanged curious glances.

"_Miss Briarcliffe_," Edward corrected himself purposefully. "Sorry. When you're here for a _very...long...time_, the pretty warden becomes a familiar face."

Jim and Harvey stayed quiet.

"She's really nice to me," Edward coined fondly. "And she smells nice."

Moira blushed in the cheeks and she smiled.

"Thank you, Ed. That's very sweet." Moira said quietly. "Please, Edward, speak with the policemen."

Edward rose to his feet and closed his book..

He only approached right behind the threshold of the room. He offered it to Moira, and she took it with a curious expression. His fingers grazed her red-polished nails, and spoke with a voice of intention,

"That's a very good book. I recommend you giving it a read."

"You've recommended fifteen books in the last two days," Moira replied, amused.

"This one, especially," he said pointedly, meeting her eyes, "is very good. Trust me. You'll like it."

Moira held the book close to her chest. Jim glanced at the two of them suspiciously, raised his eyebrows, and glanced at Harvey who shrugged his shoulders.

They knew that Edward was particularly fond of his warden. But Harvey chalked it up to Edward being constricted to a room by himself for ten years with no female visitors. Jim had the same idea.

Moira stepped aside, and exhaled briefly to regain her professional composure. She gestured to the GCPD to speak to him.

Jim greeted him as well,

"Hi, Ed."

"Been a _decade_," said Edward, dropping his charismatic, friendly voice. It deepened to disgust. "10 years, since you threw me in here. Maybe I should have let Bane destroy the city like I was going to. The city's not much different with law and order."

"Your one good deed couldn't make up for the bad things you've done, Ed." Jim said plainly. "You had to answer for Haven."

"_You_," Edward scolded, "knew that I wasn't responsible for that. You _KNEW!"_

Edward slammed his hand against the wall hard, making Moira jump.

"Haven and the crimes you commited with Oswald Cobblepot." Jim insisted. "You had a choice to recant—"

"_Ugh_," Edward waved a hand to him. "You above all people should know that it's okay to break the law when the situation benefits. You and your pal, Harvey, here. You both know about that. Except it was convenient for you because you are Gotham's white Knight, aren't you? Great and Glorious James Gordon, always there for a rescue."

"I tried to be your friend, Ed."

"I didn't need another friend. Oswald was my friend. And you took him from me too, along with my freedom."

Moira's face saddened.

"Ed," she said gently, "if you want them to go away, I'll make them go away…"

Harvey quickly turned to her, "_You can't do that—He's a witness—"_

"My patients take priority over your petty investigation," Moira interrupted him avidly. "And I will terminate this unprecedented interview when and if I see fit."

Jim raised a hand to stop Harvey from firing back a snide comment, to glance at Moira apologetically. When Jim returned to meet Edward's eyes, he wore a very smug smile. He had Moira wrapped around his finger.

"Your sentence," said Jim gently to Edward, "was a deserved punishment for the point-blank murders before _and_ after reunification"

"Commissioner, drop the subject _now_," Moira warned, "Or I will walk you out of my hospital right this second."

"We're sorry, Warden," said Jim, trying to tame the spiraling waves amongst them.

"He isn't sorry," said Edward, scoffing at Jim's pretense to keep the interview open. "He said exactly what he believes is true. Didn't you, _Jim?" _

"So tell me what you believe is true." Jim said. "What happened in the courtyard? Do you know why Carl started shooting? What made him snap?"

Edward scoffed.

"You want my help, Jim. How _delightfully_ ironic," he purred.

"Cut the smug shit and tell me the truth."

"Oh, I feel threatened," said Edward, smiling. "I don't think that I can tell you anything because I'm afraid that you'll be hostile. After all...you're armed."

Moira bit the inside of her cheek.

Jim looked irritated.

Edward shrugged, "As a kindness for the pretty warden, I'll answer you. But you'll have to answer me first."

"_No riddles, Ed—"_ Harvey snapped, but Edward interrupted him with a louder voice.

_"I am a revealer of masks,"_ Edward said. _"When I appear, friend becomes foe. And the one you love becomes the one you hate._ What am I?"

Harvey groaned annoyingly.

"Betrayal," answered Jim.

"Yep," Edward said.

Jim and Harvey exchanged confused glances as to how a confined patient could be betrayed by anyone to whom he wasn't close. Moira volunteered the key element in their investigation.

"Carl Aegis," explained Moira, "also known as 'Bae', was diagnosed with erotomanic delusional disorder. He believed that he and I were involved in a very close, romantic relationship with no base value. He wrote me a letter everyday for years," said Moira in addition to Jim's incredulous expression. "My psychiatrist suggested that I play along with Carl's psychosis to avoid him reacting violently. The first time I told him that we weren't involved, he smashed his head against the brick wall. My reprieve that he and I were an item restored him to residual sanity. And since then, I have played along."

"What was his attraction to you? Why you? Why no one else?" Jim asked curiously.

"I don't know," Moira replied.

Edward watched Moira speak, listening to her, watching her lips as if it were a mesmerizing thing. "_Everything_," Edward said, gazing at her.

Moira smiled, though trying to repress it. Jim glanced at Edward suspiciously, but disbarred it to continue the questioning.

"So what made him snap this time?"

"The same thing that happened last time." Moira answered plainly. "An officer in my employment had been whispering to him, putting ideas in his head, infected his mind."

"You shouldn't blame the pretty warden." Edward said dearly. "She was just a pawn in that officer's foul-up."

Jim frowned, turning on Edward immediately when he spoke, "Why do I feel like _you_ had something to do with _this_—?"

"You should, it's a habit by now." Edward remarked curtly immediately after Jim finished his sentence. He paused. "You know, I don't recall a single nice memory from working that thankless job." Edward frowned and turned his mild anger toward Harvey. "People made _fun_ of me. I couldn't _imagine_ working in the same building by _choice_."

"Well, your imagination is stunted by all those stupid-ass riddles you're spouting off—" Harvey snapped.

"_Easy!_" Moira scolded him.

"What, he started it!" Harvey fired back.

Harvey pulled Jim away from the door,

"Come on, Jim, Moira was right. There's no real truth to what he said. It was an accident in the courtyard. The only person who's really responsible is the officer who Carl took the gun from, and Moira already dealt with him."

Moira nodded, "Yes, I did. No one else was fatally wounded except for Lea, and she's fully recovering in the infirmary with Dr. Arden."

A moment of silence amongst the GCPD, Edward, and Moira dulled the fiery spat.

"Sounds like everything is in order." Jim said, hands on hips. "Hopefully that doesn't happen again. It just upset some people. Obviously, I had to do my duty and come check out the place. We'll see ourselves out," said Jim.

Moira looked at the retreating backs of the two of them with distaste. She turned to Edward who was still standing before her.

"I had to let them talk to you," said Moira.

"_It's fine_." Edward told her.

His voice that resonated anger with the GCPD was reduced to one that was like a husband who forgave a wife who just burned biscuits in the oven. Not an overly big deal.

"Open the book," Edward insisted.

Moira looked as if he had forgiven her too easily, but opened it.

Edward had drawn an image of a white carnation in the back of the book. Moira smiled fondly at the picture.

"White carnations represent ardence." Edward said. "You've been a _constant_ variable in my life, even if I didn't know it at the time. I'd have never turned away the GCPD, anyway, Moira. But I appreciate it all the same."

"But you couldn't possibly have known what they were going to say, or that I'd even bring them to you." Moira returned.

"No, but I do like the way you look in those white heels. White flower, white heels. An enthusiastic personality, and a not-too-creepy number one fan."

Moira blushed.

"I'll see you tonight," she excused herself. "I have to—"

"Use your superintendent to do the tedious routines, Moira," advised Edward, grabbing her elbow to keep her right in front of him as she started to walk away. "That's why you have him."

"Oh."

"Business is business but your pleasure is _my_ business," Edward said. "And that makes me late if I have to wait until tonight to—" he made a small laugh—"take care of my business."

Moira made a sly smile.

"Ed…"

"Metaphorically and literally speaking." Edward added.

Moira clicked her tongue.

"I'll take you up on your offer," she said. "But I at least have to turn off the cameras that would implicate me."

"Really? I thought that was a little kink of yours."

"You're wrong."

"Am I?"

"No," Moira said, still smiling. "Right again, Ed. Right again."

Moira pushed Edward lightly in the chest to close the door behind them.


	13. Ch 13: The Patient and the Warden

Chapter Thirteen: The Patient and the Warden

Moira took the door handle and closed it with finality; she and Edward could be together now since the GCPD checked out. The metal whirred and locked as Moira stepped away from the door to approach Edward in his room. She grabbed a hold of Edward's uniform and pushed him against the farthest wall beside the bed with a small thud against the concrete wall, wrapping her other hand roughly in his dark hair. Edward chuckled breathlessly at her firm aspiration to dominate their first tryst in the Briarcliffe hospital. Moira returned his smile as she and he met each other's lips with a kiss.

Edward's long fingers went for her neck.

Briefly Moira paused cautiously as he gripped her throat; Edward grinned widely as he noticed a small glint of fear in her eyes, swimming in there with lust.

"So," he said approvingly, "you _are_ afraid of me."

Moira withdrew her hand from his clothes to pry his hand away from her throat; but he didn't let go. She instead kept her hand along his wrist, knowing he could kill her if she struggled more so. Moira rubbed his wrist with a thumb and exhaled a nervous breath.

"I respect the fear," Moira said quietly, "that you deserve."

"That's an interesting response."

"Edward, honey, if you wanted to kill me—"

"If I wanted to kill you, I'd definitely would have thought of something better than getting you alone in my room with no real way out?" Edward breathed. His voice sounded like he approved of this strategy, and Moira's brow furrowed in concern.

Ed shook his head, declining the idea.

"I don't want you _dead_, Warden," he said, his face inches away from her. His grip around her neck loosened and instead, he observed her throat with a wandering finger. "But the fact that you're a little afraid of me makes me happy. Do you know why?"

"Tell me."

"There's a forbidden element to this," Edward said, stepping away from the wall, hand still loosely held around her neck. "The warden and a patient. Secluded in a room. But you know what? We both have a desire for everything to be in control. It's just who we are. Clearly, your object of the game is to keep all of your patients here. _Even me_," he added with a darker voice. "But I don't intend to stay here in your little zoo for the _rest of my life."_

Moira backed away from him, and Edward let his hand fall from her. But she stepped backwards toward the other wall—The room was small, not much space to fall away from a man who had manhandled her.

"I made you comfortable as possible, Ed," she said gently. "I treat you favorably than the others. Gave you books to read, extra comfort items, and after all, you do enjoy my company—"

"_Mm_," Edward nodded, continuing to back her into a corner. "Yes, I do like your company. And yet…" Edward frowned, "I can't help but think that you are only treating me favorably so because I'm your best asset here. I'm not an animal in an exhibit. But that's why they call you the '_Zookeeper_', don't they? Of course, I really like 'The Collector' better. Which one do you favor?"

Moira felt the door against her back.

"Edward, you're trying to intimidate me."

"Actually, I think that I'm succeeding in that measure. Why don't you tell me how I'm doing?"

"So what do you want? Your freedom? I can't give that to you without the GCPD knowing that I let a man go knowing well that he's _incom—"_

Edward slapped a hand over her mouth quickly, and she startled with a gasp, momentarily closing her eyes to avoid seeing his dark eyes and gritted teeth just inches from her face.

"Oh, I _beg_ you," he said, "do _not_ say incompetent."

Moira felt real fear as he could kill her right then and there. She didn't know what to do at this moment. She decided that to remain still was the best chance at keeping her patient calm, despite the fact that she had angered him by insulting his own intellectual vanity.

She caught a hint of the darkness in him, and maybe that solidified the whole reason why she wouldn't set him free.

"_Open your eyes, Warden, and look at me."_

Moira reluctantly met his agitated gaze. He considered her quietly, reviewing the fear in her eyes, and then his face broke out into a pleased smile. He frightened her, and it was okay for her to be afraid of him just a little bit.

"In time," Edward breathed, "You will set me free. Not because I _make_ you. Not because I've _asked_ you to. But because you want to, Warden. I really do like you, but you must stop thinking that I am as incapacitated as the rest of your collection of misfit toys."

Moira nodded.

He withdrew his hand from her mouth.

Moira gasped, and licked her lips briefly.

"I made you angry," she apologized. "I'm sorry."

Edward glanced at her slightly open lips. She startled a second when he moved but Moira eased when she felt his hands wrapped around the waistline of her pantsuit. A fire in her belly made her wet between her legs. Edward's intimidation made her heart flutter. And more so knowing that she was in danger while in the presence of the mad genius. But his hands were gentle and his face was no longer frighteningly contorted by the Riddler's presence.

Edward leaned in and pressed his lips against hers, slowly and tenderly. Knowing that this was okay, Moira returned it furtively; she heard a soft moan come from his mouth and she felt the hairs of her neck stand up.

What a _sound_…

Moira inhaled sharply as he slipped his tongue between her lips. Edward walked her away from the door to side step to the bed. Never breaking their lip-lock, he eased her down to the mattress on her back. Sounds of heavy breathing from the two of them, a rustle of clothing, Moira pulled herself full bodily onto the bed, kicking off her heels to allow Edward to climb on top of her. He pushed away her white jacket of her pantsuit and slipped his hands under her shirt. A small gasp from the pretty warden as his cold fingers trailed against her warm flesh.

Edward broke the kiss to land feathery kisses along the side of her neck. Soft flesh. And hot.

Moira glanced up at the ceiling, staring up at the camera which stared right back at her with a black lens, filming the two of them. She made a devious smirk. Something to re-watch late at night if it was deemed too risky to visit him tomorrow like this.

Voyeurism was quite the kink of hers.

Edward found her bra and pushed the material out of his way to grope her breast, and Moira arched her back against him, silently requesting him to investigate further down south.

"In time," Edward breathed against her neck, though he was half-tempted to quickly make good on his promise.

Moira shrugged off her jacket and tossed it to the floor. Edward raised up so that the eager warden could pull her shirt over her head and discard it too.

First time seeing Moira half-naked. And he wasn't disappointed.

"Been a while for you, hasn't it?" Moira asked playfully, pleased to his lustful expression passed over his face. She reached behind her with another arch of her back to discard her bra, allowing her breasts to come in full view of her favorite patient. "Come on, Ed. How much do you know about female anatomy?"

"Everything I need to know," Edward answered.

He bent his head forward to take a breast into his mouth. Moira's lips fell open as he circled his tongue around her nipple, while he gave the other attention with his fingers. Moira bit her lip to keep a wanting moan from escaping her mouth.

She pushed a hand through his hair, encouraging him to continue. Her toes curled under him, and she spread her legs to let him lay comfortably on her stomach so he could continue showing attention to her body.

Edward dipped his hand south and pulled down her pants, and traced his lips from her breast to her stomach, sliding down further on the bed to observe the happenings where she wanted him most.

He pulled her pink panties past her thighs. Moira's breaths became heavy and needy, raising her backside so he could pull her underwear down her ankles and toss them to the floor. Edward smirked as she spread her legs again to hopefully show her attention along the most heated flesh.

"Why do I get the impression that you've been without as long as I have?" Edward asked her curiously.

"How is that relevant?" Moira asked with little breath, lying on her back to prop her head on his pillow.

"I could only imagine that the reason you haven't had any visitors in your bed is because you wanted to be one in mine," Edward replied.

"You really are as egotistical as they say." Moira muttered.

"But am I wrong, Warden?" Edward asked her knowingly.

Without waiting for a reply, Edward placed a single digits along her slick opening only to test how accurate his hypothesis was; and he wasn't wrong. Moira was wet with arousal. And she bit back a moan to keep the ugly truth from becoming too obvious, but he knew.

Edward positioned himself between her legs and held her thighs apart with his hands.

Edward set his tongue against her clit and he nudged her bud with a little pressure. Moira's mouth fell open and her eyes pinched tightly shut as he tongued her clit insistently. He placed his lips around her clit and sucked gently, which broke her restraint from uttering any sign of pleasure—

Moira echoed a moan of approval, letting her head fall to the pillow even when she tried to watch him tenderize her itty bitty bud. Edward watched her squirm under his sweet licks; and her thighs tried to close shut, but he kept her legs spread.

"Yes...ah…" Moira cooed, as Edward slid his tongue along the inside of her folds, pushing her close to a climax, but he teased her what seemed indefinitely before granting her any sort of penetration. Light sucking, momentary darts of his tongue against her slick opening, and always keeping her legs apart due to her jolting of her hips to persuade him to give her more—Moira was a mewling puddle of lust, no more control over her patient, but under his control.

"Oh, oh…"

Edward listened to her pleasant moans, hearing her pleas. He caught sight of her hands that clawed the bed sheets along the edge of his mattress. Dire straits of need.

Moira let out a particularly loud moan, to which Edward answered her ardent cry as he slid a finger inside her, prompting an audible gasp from his warden as her hips bucked against his hand.

Edward sat up and hovered over Moira to watch her facial expressions as he fingered her with two digits in the place of two, bringing her moan his name. She reached for a handful of clothes to bring his lips to crash upon hers, covering her increasingly loud moans with a feverish kiss.

Edward felt her walls clenched tightly around his persistent fingers. He was pushing her as close to her climax as possible. And she was close. So close.

Moira bit his tongue mildly, nipped his bottom lip.

"I'm so close," she whispered. "_Please_…"

"Please what?" He asked her.

"Make me cum," Moira pled to him, and she arched her back as she felt the build up become distressingly overwhelming. "Oh my God…"

Edward removed his fingers abruptly when she was on the precipice of climaxing, and she emitted a disapproving wine.

Edward pulled his pants down to reveal a very hard erection, settled himself between her legs. Moira grinned widely, discovering his intention of withdrawing from her. She obliged, reaching for him with a red-polished hand to touch him. Fingers grasped tightly around his shaft made Edward moan, and close his eyes as she stroked him.

After three more strokes, knocked her hand away, mounting on top of her.

Edward pushed into her hard—both of them echoed a moan of approval as Moira's walls clenched around the welcomed guest inside her wet sex. He clamped his hand around her waist to keep her from moving.

"_AH!"_ Moira cried out as his thrusts gave little time for her to adjust to him, but her open mouth formed into a smile of gratitude as Edward pushed her to the same precipice of pleasure. He buried his head in her neck, and Moira heard him almost growl a noise of desperation to meet her on the same cliff. She heard him say "Yes", and afterwards heard him say her name.

What. A. Fucking. _Rush. _

"Fuck me," Moira encouraged him, meeting his thrusts with her beckoning hips. She wrapped her legs around his waist. "Harder_…Harder_, Ed."

Edward moaned as she hugged him tighter, making his need to push harder to get through her clamped walls. The room echoed with skin slapping against skin, and moans of pleasure from patient and warden.

"Ah!"

"Oh!"

"Yes…"

"I'm almost there. I'm about to cum. Don't stop, honey," Moira pleaded in his ear, as he picked up his speed.

He made a moan as sexy as his voice, and that was the final push for Moira as her body seized and her mouth formed an "O", a loud enough moan that could probably alert the guards outside of the room echoed from her as she climaxed—yet Ed rode through her orgasm, pushing her past her limit.

She cried out his name several times—(so much for discretion)—along with a string of moans of approval.

Edward came shortly afterward, moaning her name once more.

He toppled off her and lay beside her on the bed. Chests heaving. Sweat rolling off their foreheads. Satisfied pants of breath. Legs like jelly and hearts racing.

Moira looked sideways at Edward.

"That...was amazing…" She managed to applaud him.

"Yeah…" Edward replied to her, and as if he hadn't expected it, "I _know_…"

Moira chuckled at the tone of surprise in his voice and stared up at the ceiling.

"Think I should erase that footage, Ed?" She asked curiously.

"Why?" Edward said. "If and when I get out of here, I'm taking you with me."

Moira raised an eyebrow. Seriously, she didn't know if that was a joke or if that was a real threat.

But after this, it wasn't so much as a threat as it was a guarantee for another great rendezvous with the Riddler. She shrugged it off, and continued to stare at the camera's dark eye.


End file.
